Chinatown

Sorrow born of licentiousness cannot endure.
Somewhere between the station
And the street I heard this said.

And so I reached through the years and took you
In that Chinatown loft, to work with me,
You in your paint-splattered pants

And heard once again the N train rumble
Over the unsound bridge. “You called to her,
Right out the goddamn window. Don’t lie to me,”

You said that night. A woman in red boots,
Disappearing down that dark Manhattan street.
The thought that she could save my life, that possibly,
Just possibly, she could.

June 2003