And by the same token
with eyes locked on smudgy newsprint
we take the subway to the Botanical Garden
in Brooklyn
where fish, golden, a few white
and turtles, two, three, four
surface to the pleasure of onlookers
mostly out-of-towners
who later will face traffic jams
and late night return trips
on lonely upstate two-lanes
nodding off despite the blathering FM
and arrive victorious
this time at least
but now for a few hours
shifting gears
to enjoy this overcast, drippy day
among the nametagged greeneries
with their guileless choreography
and faintly Mendelian humor.
