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Read Poems by Andrew John

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A View of New York of the 1950s

I as one who has never touched the shining Big Apple –
as ruthless then as it's ruthless now –
gaze at its romantic pictures
moving on my TV screen
depicting New York's glistening streets
of the nineteen fifties,
the decade in which Dylan Thomas died there.

Screaming lights and busy marquees
dance in the sparkling, winking streets;
cars hopeful and celebrating the light that is night
in a weaving street of what is temporary;
but, hell, what a street! –
one I would live in,
would love in, would die in,
but only after I would cry in it,
cry my happiness to all who would listen,
and think me mad
but know in our shared, hand-held joy
that one from afar loves the streets
of a city he thought he would never touch.

Copyright © Andrew John | Year Posted 2017

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