Midnight in New York

The smell of her perfume clings to your jacket
and fills your whole world as you walk the city street
late into the night.

No doubt you smile, and at this hour
such a smile could seem madness or evil.
The woman trailing two children behind her
crosses to the other side of the walkway.
The old man in his fedora crosses himself
as he walks past.

There are other smells.
a shop sells kabobs, the last few glistening
in the low light of midnight. The two
Arabs inside watch you from inside where it is warm.
There is the river, salty and warm, just six lanes of highway away.
There is the smell of rain drawing close
and the vomit on the sidewalk as you pass.

But you smell none of them.

There are lights. Blurry now, for it is late
and your eyes are old.
each headlight a blurred ball,
each neon like abstract art.

You hear footsteps behind you
and a young man in a hoodie casts a shadow
that looms over you as he approaches
and passes you, never slowing down.

It is late. And there are hours in front of you.
Hours in the car that waits just ahead.
Hours of black ribbons and narrow roads.

The day has been long
and you should be tired, but as you open the car door
and start the engine,
you breathe deeply and the smell of her fills you,
calls you, brings you life
as you drive into the dark, dark night.

About this poem

The picture was taken in NYC, near Presbyterian Hospital.

I love the perfume worn by the woman I love.

Tom