New York, My Love

Central Park runners,
March in the air,
March.
Sleeping in and the rain coming through,
Bars with The Strokes playing loud and late,
Away from Times Square,
And dark enough to feel aware.
Times Square
Feeling scared.
Yellow cabs,
And flea markets in Hells Kitchen
Funny accents and figurines
By the fast-food stalls
Harlem and the subway
And the blues
Penn and Washington Square,
And Alphabet Street,
And grid systems and
Beatniks and balladeers,
Embracing pianos at the Sheraton
I never dreamed my senses
Would ever meet.

Eyelashes freezing,
And tears burning.
Hands pleading
And everyone giving and
New York City receiving.

Dollar tips in the Al Gonquin,
And the Met,
And the people we met,
And those we haven't met yet.
Jazz in the Manhattan air,
And hip-hop in Harlem
And the mad-haired kid we played "soccer" with
In the park
Where the rollerskaters rule.
Little Italy where we played it cool
(and we played it cool).
New York, My Love,
Until the next time.
Don't forget me,
It's not like I'll forget you.
You're only everything
After all.