Corner to alleyway,
stony pavements,
smoky sewers,
clothes and hands wave from metal balconies.
Crowded afternoons,
blurry faces,
bright shoes walk,
all the people talk, Mama Mia the steam of Pizzeria! Stuffy accents echo through Little Italy,
“Watch it sonny!” says the man dressed in black, what do we have?
Little round tummy children laughing,
lovers splashing water,
dreads- man drumming the beat of the city,
while wet clothes lay flat on the stones of a nearly dark Central Park.
Carriages and horses stroll along Fifth,
as people strut in Fashion Avenue with a certain beat.
“Hot Dogs, Hot Dogs!” says my man on the yellow as yellow taxis pass by with their distant, yet near honking,
time can’t matter in Times Square,
cigarettes remain breathing,
various colors of people talking,
the abundant lights and faces on the building walls are still alive,
resonating a subway rat
let’s awake at night,
until New York’s sax melody dies.