After six decades of calling Manhattan home
I was preparing myself for saying goodbye to the city.
But as I was entering Manhattan recently, it hit me
That would be the last time I’d be seeing New York’s skyline in all its glory.
Innumerable times as a passenger in train, car, plane
I marveled at its beauty and the sheer outrageousness of it all.
Millions of pounds of weight thrust upon that small piece of ground
And that dainty bridge slung across the wide Hudson.
The day was cloudy, towers of light radiating through the gray.
But I’ve seen it muted by rain, a large Impressionistic masterpiece,
Or at night, one small rectangular painting.
And when in full sun, the glare from the mirrored buildings,
So bright I hurriedly raised my dark glasses.
On this last entry,
I’m incredibly sad, tears come to my eyes, clouding my vision,
Making it impossible to call out highway directions to the driver.
How ironic it would be if we crashed,
And that beauty was the last time I admired anything.