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I can breathe there. 

Even though the city’s been called “dirty” 

while construction has torn up Downtown, 

people are nice & considerate there. 

Even though the city’s been called “dirty,” 

Duquesne Incline will lift your spirits! 

People are nice & considerate there. 

The Strip is full of life & foodstuffs;  

Duquesne Incline will lift your spirits. 

The scenery up the hill is breathtaking. 

The Strip is full of life & foodstuffs; 

the rain showers are falling fast 

& the scenery up the hill is breathtaking. 

While construction has torn up Downtown, 

the rain showers are falling fast.

I can breathe there. 

Sullen April,

why are you so sad?

why are you so cold?

Baby, we just want to get to know you—

They say that all girls

love the Springtime,

but you dragged your boots,

crushing May flowers in two

And April showers 

make you so happy,

but not us, gloomy Gus,

we like the sunshine

And the Frenchmen at the other table

they don’t turn your head,

though they’re dressed up to the nines,

you like your own company fine.

Sullen April,

why are you so sad?

why are you so cold?

Baby, we just want to get to know you.

You did it with boys way too young.

Now you hide in the library

and you got them on the run—-

You weren’t much of a singer,

you couldn’t write a decent rhyme,

but in spite of your recent hiding,

you had impeccable time-ing

And wide open spaces to you were always such a bore

when it’ll finally heat 

up, oh, my sweet,

maybe we can meet 

up at the shore.

Sullen April,

why are you hiding?

why are you so cold?

Baby, we just want to get to know you—

Honey, we just want to get to know you 

Darling, we just want to get to know you.

I’m nobody’s fool.

Yes, I look younger

than most grown-up women,

I’m mature as a 70-year-old.

Yes, I look younger—

I dyed my hair & whitened my teeth.

I’m mature as a 70-year-old.

But now my job is exhausting.

I dyed my hair & whitened my teeth.

I used play hard, & party more—

But now, my job is exhausting,

I don’t stay up late most nights anymore.

I used play hard, & party more

than most grown-up women.

I don’t stay up late most nights anymore.

I’m nobody’s fool.

Greens come alive on St. Patrick’s Day.

Each shade saturates; 

they vibrate 

finely under the lights: 

Kelly, olive, emerald, forest, moss, teal, pistachio.

Hello, let’s go, baby!

You flashed your cat-eyes

from across the room,

a welcome trance—

You had an Irish accent;

your tongue full of whiskey.

I don’t believe in curses

& superstitions.

Please don’t pinch me

if you want us to remain friends.

I know the days are growing longer,

& the flowers are budding to bloom,

but it’s way too soon

to go all the way—

Maybe,

if you are good, & promise 

me some needed attention 

& good loving, Baby,

you can see me

in my green underwear,

feeling natural. I don’t have

a green thumb, & I eat greens

but cannot cook,

but I can try to make some room,

some time for you

if you turn out to be the One,

if growing old together 

is a good idea—

In the meantime,

my green bra 

holds the interesting

bits & tits in,

but only for 8 hours a day.

Hope you like the view;

hope we can visit Ireland 

someday where green 

is natural currency 

or in the rest of days,

when the other colors matter.

Third time today,

uptown on Broadway,

I saw flocks of pigeons 

gearing up for an orgy,

but this time,

they crowded onto the roof

of the 96th Street 

Broadway Mall Community Center,

(its roof is still dripping),

gazing out, keeping warm,

heads bobbing in-time,

watching the ongoing traffic

as if their crowd was listening 

to the music of the city,

an invisible rock show.

Afterwords,

when the music died down,

they exited in droves,

wings cutting the sky

of the Upper West Side 

all at once,

shaking the heavens.

Tonight 

I felt I was dancing on the moon 

as it shimmied towards Scorpio. 

It was a flying dream, 

a mirage for the abundant senses!