My Prince


Someday my prince will come, and this
dark urban corner will shake, and his
strong sweeping arms like storms,
and his hair, bright and long,
will paralyze the traffic lights
and the endless song of restless night
will choke on its ice cream trucks.
Out from where the cars are stuck
my prince will ride, high and bright
as moonlight, thighs around a white
horse, vast as snow, whose acreage
of muscle, like determined rage,
lifts a god upon its fluted columns,
my prince, his marble eyes so solid,
against which my heart will open like an earthquake
and then my prince will have his parking space.


Donald Zirilli
1999