Underhill

Underhill

To the aerial eye, white way tributaries
converge at Times Tower delta,
where this raucous, electric midtown river
challenges the Hudson and East.

Broadway shoreline, a mile-long living body,
sheds its wood, shingle and brick skins,
only to reface numbered blocks
with steel-enforced concrete, glass and light-emitting diodes.

Uncle met Auntie in 1917 on the “Country Cousin” stage
of Gaiety Theater, namesake to the strip club that
opened in the 70s just downstream, where Gordon met Brent.
Now both prosceniums lie shadowed under an ocean liner hotel.

Around the block, 42nd Street, one-time beach
to tsunamis of B-rated backwash from johns and tricks,
has surfed a clean-edged wave into the 21st century
through value propositions, airline backers and budding audiences.

Revved gourmand taste buds left cafeterias, automats,
supper clubs and coffee shops adrift, 
while info-alert, energized eyes blinked away advertisers who
once dreamt in incandescent light, neon gas, smoke rings and steam.

O, gorgeous disarray, blowsy pastiche, amiable disorder,
hulking radiance and reassuring riot of bold light we call Times Square,
you’ve grown larger, more blistering and legend than your own byways,
gone global, rushing gigahertz beyond your banks, floating digitized images 

Of this everyone’s everywhere
in cyberspacial torrents.

Author: Cynthia Gallaher

Photo: Kevin Jarret on Unsplash