I love my home.
The center of the world(NYC).
Get anywhere in the tri-state in about 15 minutes.
At the corner of 34th Av and 113th St.
The Louis Armstrong School.
I open my window to receive
the orgy of noise that is the summer.
Empty playgound echoes the sound
of pennies tossed from a tenth floor terrace.
Endless drone of piston provoked rubber rings
as Z28’s and 240 SX’s float upon the Grand Central.
Shrieking, creaking, groaning, moaning on elderly rails
the elevated flails for Times Square.
Thunder screams from a DC-37
polished aluminum bird leaves LaG.
And with all of this going on
still the sweetest song
55 thousand strong
When #18 takes a leather wrapped ball of string
and places it in the rightfield parking lot.
let it be known that its not an overstatement when i say Doc & Darryl could have gone down as the greatest tandem and possibly greatest individual ball players ever….
cracked out they still produced no hitters and and incredible stats…dam mang…80’s babys remember
I’ll never forget him and dwight, going to shea with my fam and hoping he knocked one out..
the ultimate 80’s experience = your heros turning out to be crackheads.. kids in the city learned the lesson mad young that heros aren’t always all they are “cracked” up to be..
doc and daryl are still not all they should be because of crack. cocaine… is one helluva drug.
nice poem. brings back the black and white tv — no remote — wire hanger antenna, manual knobs one for UFT channels, cheering daddy longleg strawberry home.
^wire hanger antenna?!?
now that’s gully!