We all live one month’s rent beyond our means To order specials from the city’s menu. When subways shut down, we’ll walk home to Queens. NYC’s not an address--it’s a venue. We never stroll when we can dart or lunge; We move too fast to see our own reflection. Our sidewalks soak up rainfall like a sponge And then make oceans at each intersection. You’ll find the sound of traffic never stops; We locals all count taxis to relax. Live here a month and you will earn the chops To play our streets like Parker played the sax. Prouder than Paris, confident as Rome: Manhattan’s what a special breed calls home.
Copyright 2011 Matthew J Wells