When we were 12 years old,
John Flaherty and I rode out
to Laguardia Airport to watch
planes take off and land.
We made tomato sandwiches—
mayonnaise on Silvercup Bread,
The World’s Finest—to fish off a pier
off Cross Bay Boulevard at Point Lookout.
Golden blue dragonflies landed
on our mouth-watering sandwiches.
A good omen, forecasting our success.
We caught flounders, and many crabs,
and once hooked a drenched NYPD cap
with the embroidered letters, POLICE.
Since John’s father was a police sergeant,
he was spooked, and never told his folks.