Auld Manhattoe

Every workday an ascension of subway stairs and bam! Auld Manhattoe, midtown, where even sky must battle for attention amid the ten thousand things. I hear ghosts of 52nd Street jazz dives where horns gleam in dim smoky light and junkys make heroin deals on sooty sidewalks, see pedestrians stream from all directions, darting in front of endless parade of cars taxis trucks in daily shortcuts, then walk through galleries formed between the tall buildings, galleries with high glass vaulted ceilings so far over my head, enter skyscraper through great brass revolving doors, moving down long elegantly lit corridors lined with bistros and sandwich shops, grab my breakfast from one, pass through security turnstile into marble elevator bank where I am whisked to a high floor. And there, at end of day, from out quotidian office windows, I gaze upon glorious sunsets, oh the high floors give larger view of heavens, wide glorious view like that of bird on the wing, within, and yet without, descending, on metropolitan sidewalk the very place which gave the view, oh it blocks the sky.