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 before
crashing at the Pennsylvania
just across from the Garden
I wonder if I can go the distance
before blowing my mind
as we walk and walk and walk
clutching cheap vodka disguised as lemonade
with blisters on feet all the way from Brooklyn
to where the towers have vanished
She 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 and crocodile tears
I listen in faint disbelief
as I hear her say I’m not enough for her
and I smile at a dead body on the sidewalk
and think of home
which you don’t get anywhere else
© Ash Cheyne 2017
"Busker" features in the poetry collection "Pretty Real," available in the Shop
Ash Cheyne 