Manhattan by night: 1946
Because this is New York, I feel alone
Even when I’m surrounded by a mob
Of people who race through this maze of stone
To get to, or escape, their hated job.
I share the streets as part of this proud herd
Of fellow souls, who all feel solitude;
I go for days and never say a word
To anyone, except to order food.
So many strangers, hunting, just like me,
For some warm human color in the gray
Of this ant’s nest—searching, only to see
So many strangers, and they stay that way.
My soul mate could be living down the street.
Because this is New York? We’ll never meet.
Copyright 2014 Matthew J Wells