I could write about the first time I saw New York City. How the skyline of Manhattan drew the wows only a child utters at their sight. How the Circle line showed me the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Tower, the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center–all in their lit glory.
I could write of the myriad adventures I encountered on her streets. At the Village Gate in the Village, or the Bear Bar on the Upper East Side. Or the sold-out concert at Madison Square Garden I missed–and the car radio stolen from my honda prelude.
I could wax about the bustle of tourists and hardcore natives I encounter during any visit. Or the splendor of the Lion King and Phantom of the Opera. Or the walks through Central Park, and the visits to the zoo, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Rockerfeller Center and Time Square. Or the legion of memories that envelop me in a sea of nostalgia anytime I hear New York.
But I won’t. Because my son needs a ride to stand with his teammates in solidarity for their dubiously dismissed coach.
A stand which is, itself, vintage New York.
issues her word coast to coast
let them leap for joy
at the sight of her lit torch
their new peace in new darkness
for dverse Poets’ Poetics: Urban Renewal, pubtended by Jilly
Real Toads’ Poems In April – The Tuesday Platform,
#GloPoWriMo2018 / #napowrimo2018 10/30