THE ONLY APPLE

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.


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