My
NYC is not your NYC
No, I did
not play on your asphalt beaches
sweaty, trapped on a fire escape,
a potted plant waiting for rain
to wash the black dust from my pain.
No, I did
not move though empty nights
hungry for sex or a fix,
a sucking, guilty cockroach
waiting in shadows for the sudden approach.
No, I did
not wear my yarmulke or 'fro
alone, seeking mis hermanos,
an empty bottle blowing my hype
looking left and right, fearing the knife.
No, I did
not ride the A, B, C, F, Q or D
hustling, blank faced, underground
a flashing light with empty eyes
fugitive in foreign lands, braving hostile skies.
No, I was
not loved or hated in your streets
hurting, anonymous, misunderstood
a noble heart in a protective shell
measuring each look, doubting each smile.
No, I did
not stand one foot in the promised land
bargaining, the other in the gutter
a street merchant eager for a sale
to send kids to college, to put food on the table.
No, my NYC
is a half million human beings
marching for peace in peace,
a celebration of color, hope and diversity
awakening the fearful to a joyful possibility.
No, my NYC
is the men and women on M60 line
smiling at the tourist without exact change
a hot La Guardia rush hour, workers heading home
bus driver cool, metro cards offered in welcome.
No, my NYC
is the doorway to the American dream
huddling masses yearning to be free
refugees from intolerance creating a new race
where community, commerce and art set the pace.
©
2004 Richard Sidy
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