New York Poetry Department

The Other NYPD

Walking down Canal Street one night after work, I saw a man peeing in a telephone booth. You might be thinking “Gross.” or “Wow, telephone booths still exist?” But I was thinking “I wanna write a poem about this.” So I did. And then I wrote a bunch more poems about all the other New York things I love and hate.

On my 7th anniversary of living in NYC, I celebrated by printing out a few of the poems and leaving them around the city for random strangers/rats/pigeons to find/eat/pee on.

LOVE LETTER FROM NYC

My passing lights
Shifting shadows
Slinking across the concrete wall
My neon dollar slice signs
Wandering sharpie lines
CAUTION: RODENTICIDE
My sparkling pavement
Murky waters
Lovely, light-polluted sky
All of me,
It’s all for you,
Mister peeing in a telephone booth


SIGN

There among the darkened windows
Remains one last glowing light
In neon pink: 666
Bidding you goodnight 


INSOMNIA

One humid summer morning, 
I learned why this city never sleeps
Bolted out of bed 
as the answer came to me 
It was a cockroach
Crawling on my face


SUPER

I knew you’d be here
White tee, cigarette, 9am beer
Ruling the stoop with that fuckless slouch
“Good morning” 
rolls into a long conversation as we walk down the block
At the corner we stop
It occurs to me I’ve never seen you beyond this street
“And then I shot him nine times,” you say
And now I’m late for work but this doesn’t seem to be the time to say

BROOKLYN BRIDGE

How many times have I walked across you
Full of panic and joy and love
And liquor 
Hand-in-hand with my best friends,
Running wildly through your arches
Zigzagging across your wooden slats
Or meandering back from a panic attack
Just in time for sunrise 
In the quiet hours when I can pretend you’re mine
How many times have I walked this mile
And wished it wouldn’t end
Watchtower sign welcoming me home
Back to where I began


ODE TO IPHONE 4

In my purse where you were once, 
now there’s just...
a pizza crust?


RAY’S CANDY STORE

Maybe magic is an Oreo
Enveloped in deep-fried dough
Dusted with powdered sugar

Maybe it’s an egg cream
Belgian fries drowning in cheese
A handwritten sign reading “CASH ONLY”

Maybe it’s banana splits and popcorn shrimp
A baseball cap and a boundless grin
Doling out plates of beignets on Avenue A

Maybe it’s worn hands working the fryer
Another salty, sweet, savory all-nighter
The stories shared in a narrow space at 3am

Maybe magic is an Oreo
Enveloped in deep-fried dough
Dusted with powdered sugar


THE ANTI-HAROLD

Take a seat for the improv show
“What’s your greatest fear?”
Suddenly there are tears
On stage
In the audience
Everywhere
A woman takes off her top
Another throws herself into a bonfire of props
“Follow us”
Into a smaller room
Now we’re lying on the floor
Underneath a rainbow parachute