The Altar on Avenue B

I don't know what whiskey I'll find

in this shot glass but

I know it'll taste like this city.

I liked watching those lean,

strong welder's arms pour it.

I'll bet the bartender tastes like this city.

I'm here half for the Jameson

and half for the stories.

Shit, let's be honest,

I'm here for the stories.

There are so many.

I need them, mostly to melt

into the solder that welds

my quiet childhood to this raucous life.

I'm not even sure I can work in quiet anymore.

I'm sitting on a stool at the beer-soaked altar of New York:

the great classical conditioner of prolific chaos.

A grizzled lovely veteran of this city

sits beside me. I say- "I'm 20 but I'd gladly be 40

if I could've seen your New York."

I think, "...fuck,

what’s the best way to say,

Tell me about the days

you steeped your veins in heroin

and lived dipped in music.

Tell me about the time I missed

so I can see where I'm going."

I spin my beer in my hand. I say-

"So, tell me about having nothing

and the everything in between."

adapted from a conversation with Sara Kyle

June 2013

Part 1 of the series Secondhand City