Ten A.M.
Going south
That garage smell of subway
Start, stop, die, live
A handful of blocks at a time

Brighton Beach
And a cool
Atlantic Ocean breeze
Sand littered with ethnic whites
In their European bathing suits
And beached whales

Where is my harpoon?

Walk the boards to Coney Island
Taking that Hubert Selby stroll
Grab a Nathan’s
And a bite out of history

Sixty-seven in ten minutes?
Maybe on Nic’s birthday

Cruise by the Cyclone
En route to catch a train
Northbound to Midtown
Where you find the big wigs

Feet to pavement
Walking the beat
Millions have walked before
Crowded yet alone
Alone in a crowd
Never have I felt so at home

Fifth Avenue and Big Box Rentals
Across from a sign
Reading post no bills

Rockafeller Center
Sixty-nine stories above
Crowded streets in awe
As far as my eyes could reach
They touched buildings
Containing people like
Termites in a hill
Agoriphobia subsided
For appreciation of true beauty
A sense of history
And a dash of pride

Elevator ride
Fifteen seconds
To descend from a football field high
St. Patrick’s Cathedral
My mouth wide open
A little drool dripping from my chin
Blink once
Twice
Thrice for certainty
That I haven’t slipped
Into another realm

Faith aside and eyes wide
To suck in the most
Beautiful thing I’ve seen
Holy water and candle offerings
Not two blocks from a march for Israel
Celebrating sixty years
Of pride and pilgimage
Thousands of Star of David flags
Between my heart and Central Park
In the City that needs no name