Blondie and Boho’s book party, before and after the reading (Dedicated to Phillip Giambri, aka The Ancient Mariner)

Already flashed my ass on Houston Street today.

(a sweet, elderly, black woman with a walker 

mercilessly tugged my skirt down; thank you Ma’am)

before Phil drank his Breakfast of Champions drink

(pineapple juice & vodka)

and signed his new lovin’ coyote book: Hooray the hero!

I already traced my steps before,

to the Library Bar on Ave. A,

trying to remember that magic night years ago

before Sister had a kid,

but the bar looked different in the mid-afternoon light—

It was so empty with dumb-looking hipsters—

and the grocery store across the street 

reminded me of the UWS

with its various goat cheeses and specialized sushi—

this is not the LES, man!

Let’s sing of gut sandwiches here and drink Stella in the dark

among dozens of stone-cold groovin’ friends

as New York continues to get real, 

dancing between old and the new realities 

as our long, black skirts stay up

on a sunny winter’s day

without you noticing (at first).

When evening comes in like a casual bandit,

when the kids fill up on 2nd Ave.,

the new bars here now 

are a grey, pale shadow 

of the dive bars of the ‘80s,

and more new, soulless glass boxes

are built here, with crippling 

rent hikes & mortgages, 

shutting down the heart 

of the neighborhood,

as Phil’s stories of Blondie & Boho illustrate, 

these wild coyotes

still try to survive here, 

even in these dark times.

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