They say the neon lights are so bright it’s hard to make a plan on Broadway.
Last night I waltzed with the girls with the tallboy cans on Broadway.
The rain and the heat turned the sewers into fans on Broadway.
And as we drank and we laughed I was too far gone to even stand on Broadway.
An arm over the shoulder – as good as a blood oath on Broadway.
Or giving you my leather while you tell dirty jokes on Broadway.
Your Parliament kiss, your Chelsea boots – it’s like you were born on Broadway.
My provincial past and gnarled roots make me “lived-in” and “well-worn” on Broadway.
But as you went underground, I yelled “What’s the use?” on Broadway.
While the uptown N left me hanging like a lame excuse on Broadway.
Still, every morning I march with briefcase in hand on Broadway.
Dreaming of the nights when I will waltz with the girls with the tallboy cans on Broadway.
2 thoughts on “On Broadway”
Request for next poem: On Washington
I’ll give it a shot:)