Back then, long before your plane touched down,
I lived through many stories on these streets.
Several key players have since skipped town
Proving to me no day ever repeats.
You now step into their vacancy,
Time's way of tapping me on the shoulder.
Later, when you're gone, here I'll still be -
A little smarter, a little older.
I've dug in deep with both hands
And found gold no longer here for the taking.
Soon all gives in to fate's demands,
So I'm not in the habit of forsaking.
In due course the road up ahead will fork
And you'll become part of My Old New York.
Author's Notes/Comments:
In the late months of 2012 and the early months of 2013 I was stricken by the feeling of being an outsider at my alma mater, William Esper Studio, because I lived in the suburbs as a commuting student. When this happens people immediately assume you are not available to attend certain functions, that you live far away - “out there.” This, when I have lived my whole life proximal to New York City and consider it part of the larger area I live in. I felt the need to stake a claim on my memories. This was scribbled somewhere in a notebook in early 2013 and nearly lost due to my disorganization. It's the only inclusion here from the regretfully sprawling collection “A Walk to Clear My Head,” released July 30, 2013. “Sleeping With Myself,” a poem from the same collection, touches on similar themes.
