Nobody's Bizness if I Do

Sky high turquoise ceiling of Grand Central station with white etchings of astronomical constellations, best late spring day of 2006, we meet and walk west on 42nd Street, through loud crowds in golden sunshine, glimpse down the avenue a sea of waving flags, Puerto Rican Day parade, oh bliss, just missed! And we make it to the theatre, refurbished and glossed into jewelbox gleam, musical revival of song and dance sweeping us into better moods, momentary relief of thwarted desires, laughing, carried away with color and sound and human beauty.

Then swoop, Fifth Avenue bus to West Village, walking past sunlit green of Washington Square Park to Bleecker, feasting at outdoor table of Italian restaurant, strange old man on bicycle rides by, flags waving from the handlebars, boombox blaring "New York, New York," beautiful young lady with big rhinestone crown and evening gown swaying by (Princess of Puerto Rico perhaps), young hipster busboy sees me admiring the steak knives and sneaks me one to take home, I'm armed and dangerous!

Saunter back to park benches for cigarettes and cigar, speaking of mysteries of existence. He is so fine, look out little brown eyes, if you're wise, Billie sang and it ain't nobody's business if I do. Oh no, gotta walk a couple a miles in my stilettoes if you're gonna understand why I'm just glad he's alive.