Sidewalks of New York Speak

You wander through
your grandmother’s New England garden
in red sneakers with an old red
wooden toy organ
strapped around your neck.
Turning the crank, humming along:

East Side, West Side,
all around the town.

Before you can read
you’ll see the writing
in blue chalk at your feet.

Come find me.
Memorize that map
of my guts.
Know me better
than your own hands
that dig into pockets

in search of
an old subway token
with a tiny Y cut out.

Never learn
to drive. Love my one-way streets
and two-way sidewalks forever instead.

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