New York City

I stare out at the skyline, my eyes becoming slits.
Twenty-story buildings reflect in my sunglasses.
Down the stairs and three dollars.
Holding onto a handle in the subway.
Strange men trying to stare up my skirt.
Lord knows how many people have touched these cars.
Lord knows why these men are staring.

Exit up the north stars and buy coffee from a vendor.
A hot dog in my right hand—don't skimp on the mustard.
Still there is that skyline.

This city is beautiful despite it's evils soul.
A building with poetry you don't want to read on the side
penned in spray paint.
—Kyle loves Kara—
—Kill Eastside—

Still there is that skyline.