New York City dreamin’ on a brisk day.
I’d be safe and warm if not left astray.
A poor kid in a big city, finding a way—
tales from the concrete getaway.
All the leaves are brown,
and the sky is grey.
Oh, the bright lights of this town
make me float down Broadway.
In the capital of the world,
I stand on the subway platform.
Being in the right place at the right time
is an urban art form.
Screeching down the tunnels,
I am content to write fresh new content,
sitting next to a laborer and businessman
talking about the due rent.
New York City dreamin’ on a brisk day.
I’d be safe and warm if not left astray.
A poor kid in a big city, finding a way—
tales from the concrete getaway.
All the leaves are brown,
and the sky is grey.
Oh, the bright lights of this town
make me float down Broadway.
On the road, no matter what lies at each side of the fork,
I am proud to have grown up in New York.
Michael Colon is a poet in New York City.
