by Zoe Antoine-Paul 

We are in
on the joke,
but only
on the margin,

the avenue itself
a dotted line
corporate crush
and tourist trap sprawl
along the Hudson.

Jersey City
threatens to thread
the Upper West Side
through her teeth,

all glitter-mouthed
and bitter ambition.

When you leave
in the morning,
she will sate again,

skyscrapers grasping
at starless skies
into two story
suburban boxes,

sidewalks slicked
with rain unfurled
into vast highways
and backyards
big enough
to cage their own
small oceans.

If I keep my gaze
on you, I can see
the appeal;

eyes wolf-like
for the world
around you.

I’d let Jersey
Brooklyn too.

Zoe Antoine-Paul was born on the island of Saint Lucia but now calls Brooklyn home. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in F(r)iction Magazine, Scapegoat Review, Funicular Magazine, New Note Poetry, Red Ogre Review, West Trade Review, where she volunteers as a reader, and other publications. Zoe writes about the city, the beauty in the mundane, and everyday internal turmoil. She can be found on Instagram @space.junkie13.