Indignities of city life, those rueful
retellings, with a smile that says still here
despite it all, are nothing like the sun
and wind that all but close my daughter's eyes
as she squints south, or tries to, on the roof
of the South Tower. Behind her to the north
the city is as dun as Babylon
itself, unearthed and dusted off. Who knew?
My son's gesture shading his eyes is fixed
in a military salute.  Behind him, the too-big- 
to-be-real mass of the North Tower lends depth 
to distance-blurred streets below.  The view is so-so, 
we know, but who wanted to wait two stifling 
hours on line at the Empire State Building? 

So here we are, bracing against the wind 
and trying hard to be impressed by these
unlovely structures nobody really likes, 
doing a tourist thing we never thought 
of doing when we lived here.  Say goodbye. 

3 responses total.

Hm.  Not sure if I like 'say goodbye.'  I'll mull over it, maybe it'll grow
on me. (:  Did like 'unlovely structures,' though.  I've always liked your
style, md.

Thank you so much.  Is "Say goodbye" too corny?  

No.  It was so sudden, though -- I think what I like about 'say 
goodbye' is that it makes so much sense so immediately.  My first read 
through, I didn't like it, but then, you've set me up to feel that 
pang of irritation, the way a child feels when he's playing with 
cousins at Christmas and mom says, please put on your shoes, we're 
leaving now. Then there's loss in the wake of the (short-lived) 
irritation.

IMO, good poetry is made when what needs to be said is said just the 
right way.  In this case, ending the poem with those two words, you're 
saying as little as possible to evoke a response, and that makes it 
just right.

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