I see the remembers,
with alleys dark and garbage can cats
jumping a jive like horns and drums
busting a beat at Tin Pan corners
where neon’s red and blue
point to the apples best and brightest
jazz long into a night that got no end,
only beginnings, striking out a rhythm
busting into the square of the Times
flowing south over 42 Street
past trains that come to the Grand
then over to Heralds busy Square
where the push comes to fall back
east to the river that Roebling loves
to the small clubs and one room
smoky joints and whiskey without rocks
I hear the laughter and songs in my head
as I dream of the days gone through
my fingers and years………..
Ya, I remember when it was
mine.
Roger Singer 