At JFK

The first time I arrived in New York, the skies were grey. Not until I
Reached Manhattan did the skyscrapers loom into view, and scrape the sky
They did. I felt dwarfed. Today, a clear day, the small jet flew low over
The island. Its buildings looked like the lego set which Theo and I
Built then destroyed this morning. A puny mark on the vast open spaces,
A plea for attention; a hostage to the whim of an errant limb.

Airports take you into a city without being in the city. A
Modern Ellis Island. I have four hours to kill with Goethe’s musings on
Italy. I long to cut loose, catch a bus, share a beer with Matthew. But
I am in transit, and, from the tone of my immigration officer,
Lucky to be so. He made me ‘passenger of the hour’, sent me to Mr
Customs, who, more kindly, said he’d look out for ‘Mr Fletcher’ at the Oscars.