There is one mayor of New York City, and that
is Eric Adams. Singular as El
Shaddai, fire-ringed as Ahab’s hell-
mouthed stab into the white void, rat-
killingly prodigious as a feral cat,
indelible as August’s garbage smell
from farthest Rockaway to Riverdale:
father-figure, lord and autocrat—
the feds will try to flay him, let them try;
how can one unskin a man so layered
in foreign soccer kit and glinting swag,
both cherry tree and ever-untold lie:
salvation’s self, the prayer and prayered-
to: won’t go quietly, will get the bag.