New York, I Loved You

I loved you, New York.

The way, at first, Tina loved Ike, loved even the winged Effort of his anger, loved his punch-drunk backhand in flight,

Loved even the Staten Island of him, his absurd cost Of living, his paper bag-Thunderbird heart in the Bowery;

The way Sid loved Nancy, loved her hard-break Lexington Ave, Loved her spine wet with August effort and dead eyes dying

In the Chelsea Hotel—I loved you—though it’s easy to see My love was unrequited as a Queens-bound 7, late

On a Sunday night. I loved you, New York and when I did I was a coin falling from the hand above water,

I was a lost spoon in the weeds of East Harlem, I was Blur and bother, Bed-Stuy to Morningside, and I loved you

Even leaving.