You sing
about the sky
and the rain
and springtime love

I’ll do it for you
Whatever it takes
You will do it

Is there springtime
in Bodega Alley?
On East Broadway?
In my 13th floor
apartment?

Does Spring
happen everywhere?
Or is it just for those
with love, money
and luck?

Maybe some of us
cannot afford Spring

We wear boots
and black jeans
Walk until it hurts

In New York City
Winter arrives on time
Settles into bones
on cellar doors
beneath the scaffolds

Summer
brings smells
of sweat and garbage

And the rich people
pronounce the seasons’
names as if they were verbs

Maybe Spring is reserved
for the fortunate few
who smile without coffee
and stained teeth

We wear black leather
all year round
Walk until it hurts,

and walk some more.