twoten in poetry

it’s two-hundred and ten miles
from where I live to New York City
not quite to Brooklyn or Manhattan
but the borderline where Westchester bleeds
into the Bronx on electrical feeds
sixty miles east then
take a right at Albany
go a hundred fifty more
between the city and me

you could drive those two-hundred and ten miles
in a little under three hours if you’re crazy
on a full tank and crazy and
with a strong hold on your bladder
you could barrel down the New York Thruway
hanging that necessary right at Albany
at just a little over seventy
probably never get a ticket
you could do it

just a day trip away
from functioning mass transit
just a day trip away
from pissing in the streets
just a day trip away
from all those foreign movies
just a day trip away
from delis that never sleep
from artesian cured meats
from rumble honk beep beep
to rock you toward the deep

when you grow up in the country
they say someone will take your money
with a blackjack clubbing lovely
or pickpockets push and shove me
but that’s a lie but that’s a lie
you’ll lose your money to the exxon guy
to the price of truck stop apple pies
to road tolls that have grown so high
you’ll be broke before you
ever could be mugged
that’s the New York City love
after that it’s just for landlords
to squeeze blood from your stone
til you feel so damn alone
in the middle of a miracle
in a world not flat but spherical
in the light and the art
in the hope and the dreams
the bill collectors coming through
to tear them at the seams
those are the bastards
who’ll actually roll ya
who will gas and food
and rent and kill and toll ya
two-hundred and ten miles away
two-hundred and ten miles
from an oblivion that’s actually okay

they’ll tell there’s no real salsa
made in New York City
they’ll yell these fallow falsehoods
from Texas where it’s shitty
and yes I’ll mess with Texas
hell yes I’ll mess with Texas
with their Texacos and Exxons
I’ll surely mess with Texas
fuck Texas
fuck Texas
they’ll badmouth New York City
because they’re just so jealous
of places that won’t fault ya
for being an immigrant whose food won’t fit
a white rancher’s formulation of a salsa
fuck Texas
fuck Texas
it’s your right and human duty
to fuck with fucking Texas

two hundred and ten miles
from where I grew to where
the dirty hopes still have
a place to sprout and rome
two hundred and ten miles
to where my heart still rests
and finds its goddamned hope
with the rats and the piss
and the trains and the glitz
and the big gaudy lights
and the bare endless nights
I can’t afford it but
if you are going my way
it’s just three hours
of frantic highway
a way
away
a way
away