Broome Street

That was the day at Eileen’s Cheesecake.

I sat alone at the window while she smoked her cigarette

And asked me how I liked it,

I wanted to say, it tastes like ashes and abandon.

But I nodded like a bobble-head sold on the sidewalk,

Made her cigarette taste good.

That was the day you and I shared everything:

My money, cereal, textbooks, twin blade and a twin bed

The day we missed our train and my feet cried iron

You told me you didn’t dance, and I should have worn appropriate shoes.

And as I roamed the same grey pavement for hours,

You slept, like a faded neon sign far off in California

While I stood outside drinking smog and rain,

Flirting with Broome Street.