When I Get Home

There will come a time
That moment when the sun
Peeks over the crowning skyline on the horizon
Illuminating in hues of pink
And orange, imperial violet
That familiar sight that beckons me
— beckons me to plant my roots
And make my home
Amongst the shaken leaves of fall

To stride up every blacktop
And down each concrete corridor
Dodging taxis and bike messengers
Dwarfed by the monoliths
Of steel and glass
As street vendors hock their wares

I’ve fallen hopelessly for the Big City lights
New York City: My home, that treasured ground

I long to be swallowed by the crowds
The anonymity of it all
Ducking and darting
With the frenzied mob
And having no real aim
As to where I’m going next

To wander as I take them in
Those old familiar haunts
Which, while I know them well
Offer something fresh with each new day
To be the master of my own design
And look back
And laugh
That I lived any other way


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