Pegasus

In a horse-drawn time merry-go-rounds,
organ-grinders, a monkey and tinny music
clippety-clopped down city streets
like Brooklyn’s Sterling Place,
debauchery between brownstones
cheek to thigh in tight formation,
eyes in front, and eyes behind,
blind of eye from side to side.
Five years olds, clutching pennies,
ran to the merry and bought a ride.
Sat a child on Pegasus, snow-white
floor-tethered horse with wings
factory-made to “Fly.”
The two went higher than high,
into skies, clouds, over houses,
Prospect Park to Sheepshead Bay.
Silently dipped and soared,
cleaving blue only Pegasus knew.
His wings, beating strong and sure,
bore the earth child home to air,
binding her to remembrance.