Midway upon the journey of my life
I found myself within a midlife crisis
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
Alas! How hard a thing it is to admit
What was this life but savage, rough, and stern,
Whose future renews my fear.
So bitter it is, death is little more;
But of the good to treat, which there I found,
Speak will I of the other things I saw there.
I cannot well repeat how there I entered,
So full was I of despair at the moment
In which I had abandoned the true way.
We sat by the riverbank on Shore Boulevard.
You would lie down on the grass with me in the dark.
We could hear the rats scurry in the rocks by the water.
And louder still were the sound of barges floating downstream
And cars and trucks driving on the Triboro Bridge.
(Why did they have to rename it anyway? Did you know it cost $4 million to do so?)
We smoked Dunhills and you remarked that these sounds of the city
Filled you and satisfied you in a way that was wholesome and pure.
Platonic? I asked.
Yes. You said.
And you stared up at the sky
That was dark and starless
And let out deep breaths
As if you would never run out.
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