A week in New York City

We walk amidst the crowds,
some barreling into us
on our side of the sidewalk
as we tally 43 miles for the week.
We push into the subway cars,
careful not to get stuck in the sliding doors
as we crush into others standing in the aisles.
Sweat pours down our faces and soaks our backs.
We wait in long lines for museum tickets
to see the first masterpiece
Rembrandt ever painted at age twenty-three,
Manus X Machina fashions, Diane Arbus photography,
Degas charcoal and pastel drawings,
Pergamon Greek and Roman artifacts,
Turner’s whaling landscapes,
and the constructionist Bauhaus artist and writer, Maholy-Nagy.
Culture abounds even at night.
How can a New York experience not include theater? One play is terrific:
A Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time.
The other, The Humans, not so much.
And we eat and eat and eat one place better than the other:
Chazz Palminteri’s Ristorante Italiano,
Locanda Verde on Greenwich Street, Lusardi’s with dear friends,
MOMA’s The Modern food to die for, Nice Matin French restaurant
with more good friends, and the last night out
to Serafina’s with good friends again.
Not counting breakfasts and lunches in other wonderful places
with other wonderful friends.
We reminisce; we discuss our respective health conditions,
talk about recent travels, and share about our children.
Some stories make us sad, but in the end
we come together in love and the thrill
of seeing each other again this year.
One night we even take a pedi-cab to avoid waiting for a taxi.
One of our friends says: That’s. Very. Dangerous.
Her mouth open in disbelief.
Although I would never do it again,
I made it to our destination – Alive.
All the heat and crowds and culture doesn’t stop me
from loving and experiencing
a New York week to the hilt.
And the scale told me this morning
I’m two pounds less than when we left.
Must be all that walking.