I’M A NEW YORKER NOW, 1985
1985
I have 3 keys to my house.
I’m a New Yorker now.
I must get locks for my gas tank,
ignition, hood, and an alarm
on my fender. My antenna
slides in, locks, also.
My car insurance is $1600.00.
I don’t meet people’s eyes
and smile as we pass.
I see fearsome creeps
on the subway and don’t blink.
I drive 10 mph average
on my way to work.
Gridlock’s a new word I know.
I beep swerve
can make a 3 lane street
4 or even 5 lanes.
I’m a New Yorker now.
can hail a cab,
carry many keys
and little cash,
few credit cards,
walk tough,
spread my valuables
about my body,
wear low heels,
sneakers with my suits,
drink soda not pop,
wait on line not in line
with great patience.
I never knew I had such patience.
I barely murmur when my bank takes
5 days to clear a cashier’s check.
I doubled my salary
1/3'd my life style,
pay the highest taxes
in the country
for roads full of potholes
streets full of filth
schools the middle class
doesn’t attend.
I’m a New Yorker now.
Saw Paul Newman
on the street.
Sean Connery,
Carl Bernstein,
bought me a drink
at Elaine’s.
I o.d. on possibility.
For entertainment I can go
to the opera, the theatre,
a lecture, a concert,
museums, shops, restaurants,
neighborhoods, bars, clubs, games,
parks, walks, zoos, readings—
such riches— no human could possibly
do it all.
I’m a New Yorker now.
Stay behind locked doors.
Read the Times,
watch TV,
think about it.
c. Jane Piirto. All Rights Reserved