Bust of a City

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By Meg B., New Work, MW

I’ve had a love affair with this city. Since I fell into its arms, (1) _________ , the metabolism of midtown, the reticence of the Upper East Side, the pregnancy of Harlem. Walking down the street, I fall for every Korean Laundromat, for every Ray’s Pizza, for each old sneaker hanging over a Brooklyn telephone wire.

The city flirts with me, (2) _________ . She plays hard to get stop ups with the Six Train and Puerto Rican Day parades. I wonder what she sees in me.

Bejewelled with the docile Brooklyn Bridge and the angular GW, (3) _________ . Strutting on high heels of Manhattan, she is drunk with attention.

New York City is (4) _________ that wears a seasonal mood ring. In winter, she’s bruised and bitter with tourists, her local immune system shielding grimaces. In summer, she sweats only the faithful who can’t bear to see her lonely.

Her Six Train bloodstream pumps wisdom, (5) _________ screaming at his knee. I sit on the blue benches with those equally obsessed, indulging in the quiet comfort of the bum on the stoop of Saint Catherine’s Church.

Dressed in Starbucks and cigarettes, (6) _________ . She is freckled with suits. Brooklyn, her conscience; Soho, her fingers; Queens, her love handles; downtown, her wrinkles...

I fell in love with this city... I fell in love forever and ever...


A I have a lot of meetings with uncommon people

B I have been enamoured with the buxom curves of the village

C sun hits her skyscraper shoulders

D a constantly shifting painting on a cement canvas

E her streets are rich of lifelike pictures

F her taxi-cab hips swinging from East to West Side

G New York is dressed to the nines

H preaching not to look twice at the matted-hair man

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