Busker

One way or another I’m gonna get ya

to the city that never smiles

not even yellow cab drivers arguing

about who pays the Tribeca toll

Crashing at the Pennsylvania

just across from the Garden

I’m wondering if I can go the distance

before blowing my mind

We walk and walk and walk

clutching cheap vodka

disguised as lemonade

blisters on feet

all the way from Brooklyn

where empty towers

have vanished from the eye line

Gives me hope behind a dumpster

in the village of lost souls

in return for half a dozen beers

and a trashy tee shirt

to go with that thousand yard stare

With a crocodile tear

I listen in faint disbelief

as I hear her say

I’m not enough for her

I smile at a dead body on the sidewalk

and think of home

Which you don’t get anywhere else









© Ash Cheyne 2017