New York

New York I can’t stand you
With all your ado
About things and rings
And panache-full prudes

I just want some peace
One night of ease
Quiet mentality
And compassion, please

A hand on my shoulder
Soothing the boulder
That once was my heart’s sun
My anti-grow-older

That bloomed in sea air
Weaved gold in my hair
Cleansing the grey
That clouded my lair

Yet something is itching
Deep under my stitching
Winding up, grinding up
Pushing and pinching

When I deign to sleep
It wakes and it weeps
Begging for sate
Needy, restless and deep

It grows, never cowers
This drainer of power
Like Pete to old Hook
Taunting hour after hour

Well, one point for Unrest
And the schmucks I detest
But are they all pointless,
These coils in my chest?

For now, yes, I mind them
Like unrav’ling hems
That need some good fixin’
But are whole in the end

 

more by A. M. LAINE