Saturday, January 23, 2021

13,367. I DON'T KNOW THE STICKY WICKET

I DON'T KNOW THE STICKY WICKET
And I've never been one of the elect.
Fourteenth Street, they used to say,
was the upper edge of the Village. No,
just try to say that anymore. Klondike
Bars and kids on crutches; skateboard
knees and boy/boy clutches.
-
Boarded-up windows must tell you
something: Bleecker Street's a nasty
mess, and MacDougal looks like
Hell. The Pompei Church just ends
up making me ill. Oh, I've tried,
believe me, I've tried.
-
Mary Cantwell can't you see I miss
you so. Not just me, this whole place
reeks now of your absence. And the
Chelsea Hotel? Gone for forever,
and forever won't tell.

 

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