This is the third in my series of NYC poems. Most of these poems were written in moments of reflection on the subway, in my apartment, etc., on my lifestyle or observations in the city. Please tell me what you think, and enjoy!

Happy

There's a gal on the train

And I've become her favorite fixation

A living exhibition— mimetic art—

Taking slow breaths between

Headphone beats and subway stops

And exhausting as it may seem

I'm happy here.

There are forty-two people

At the same crosswalk as me

Catastrophic crowding— claustrophobia—

Piling upon each other

Suffocating one another

And as frightening as it may seem

I'm happy here.

I'm an hour late for a function

And only four miles away

The white rabbit— late again—

Between one island and another

Separated by the ocean

Or the metro, Hudson River

And yet, I'm happy here.

There are heiresses and homeless men

Parading through the streets

Such distinction— juxtaposition—

Fifth avenue to Flatbush

No consistency in delicacy

Or harrowing, haunting poverty

But still, I'm happy here.

New York, New York

You may be quite a tease—

A dreamer's loft for dreams

A beggars pot of gold—

Without much intention

And scant remorse, but even then

I'm happy here.