autumn in new york
walking down broadway
from w108th to film
at lincoln center on w65th
we might catch city of god,
we might grab dinner after,
on the way back up the
avenue at some french bistro
with mustard coloured walls
and african violets on the window sills.
she eats steak au poivre
me french onion soup,
some wine between us.
talking of her time in sao paolo.
night is dark and cold
bundled youth in love
acting in our very own
woody allen film
before the downfall.
tomorrow i might sell
copies off the socialist worker
up near columbia while she
studies with friends.
the city holds all
our stories forever.
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