After complaining on Facebook that there was no New York City equivalent of Carl Sandburg's "Chicago," mostly to throw out the line that I thought should start it: "City of Mooks and this Fuckin' Guy," a friend told me to finish the poem. So here's my attempt.
CITY OF MOOKS
City of Mooks and this Fuckin' Guy
Jaywalkers, Drivers who can't and who won't
Lenders and Borrowers both
Loudly, lordly, lean and hungry
Spine of the New World
If you are wicked, I don’t care. I see what I see and I will listen
to everything you say, then ignore it.
If you are crooked, what else should I expect? The stop and frisk,
the tourist trap and money pit once called Ground Zero,
the open palm. No tip is large enough.
If you aren’t so brutal, if not so grimy, if not so loud,
you’ve become deaf , City of Golden Shackles,
graffiti art and protest crime.
To those who sneer at you, I say, it’s only for me to sneer at.
Sneer at your sister's small-town hair. Sneer at your unpaid uncle.
This one’s mine.
Show me another city where superheroes go. Show me a city
with so many rings. Show me a city with more parades.
Tallest of Cities and Hardest. City of Long Waters. City of Sluggers
who know what it’s like to be slugged.
Sitting ferocious, standing to yawn and with contempt,
Turning its back but taking its eyes off you never.
Threat and Protector,
Screaming for you to
Come back Get Back
Come over here
Get the fuck outta here
Digging at you as it digs at the sky,
Laying foundations, veins of blue water, bellies of waste
Wiring you until the heaviest hand and lightest glance will spark
Building you up, making you climb, top, tower, loom
Even the shadowed canyons reach to the sun.
Breathing with one great gathering sound
Cars and crowing and steam released
Grabbing that fuckin’ guy and pulling him to you
City of Rings, First City, spine of the world.
City of Mooks and this Fuckin' Guy
Jaywalkers, Drivers who can't and who won't
Lenders and Borrowers both
Loudly, lordly, lean and hungry
Spine of the New World
If you are wicked, I don’t care. I see what I see and I will listen
to everything you say, then ignore it.
If you are crooked, what else should I expect? The stop and frisk,
the tourist trap and money pit once called Ground Zero,
the open palm. No tip is large enough.
If you aren’t so brutal, if not so grimy, if not so loud,
you’ve become deaf , City of Golden Shackles,
graffiti art and protest crime.
To those who sneer at you, I say, it’s only for me to sneer at.
Sneer at your sister's small-town hair. Sneer at your unpaid uncle.
This one’s mine.
Show me another city where superheroes go. Show me a city
with so many rings. Show me a city with more parades.
Tallest of Cities and Hardest. City of Long Waters. City of Sluggers
who know what it’s like to be slugged.
Sitting ferocious, standing to yawn and with contempt,
Turning its back but taking its eyes off you never.
Threat and Protector,
Screaming for you to
Come back Get Back
Come over here
Get the fuck outta here
Digging at you as it digs at the sky,
Laying foundations, veins of blue water, bellies of waste
Wiring you until the heaviest hand and lightest glance will spark
Building you up, making you climb, top, tower, loom
Even the shadowed canyons reach to the sun.
Breathing with one great gathering sound
Cars and crowing and steam released
Grabbing that fuckin’ guy and pulling him to you
City of Rings, First City, spine of the world.