I want to go to New York, I want to walk through Central Park. I want to gaze at all the upper class snobs living on the East Side. But I want to do drugs, and write poetry about the kids from the West Side. I want to go to Queens, And talk to a saxophonist. I want to listen to him say he never made it. But I’m going to sit on the curb, And listen to him make it in my heart, I want to walk the dirty streets of Manhattan, Crowded with pigeons. I want to tattoo the subway lines, On my wrists so I never forget, I want to read a book under a Tiffany lamp, In the New York Public Library, That’s where I imagine I will fall in love. I want to go to New York City, I want to breathe the polluted air, I want to be a writer, In a dodgy apartment somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen. I want to go to New York City, Of that I am most undeniably and entirely certain.
Arby D.
