Welcome Home

The roads are jammed; the traffic crawls

And rain clouds fill the sky.

The cars are crammed and, on the walls,

Graffiti passes by.

 

The cabbie shrugs, “That’s how it goes”

As we head slowly home,

The morning’s hugs, you might suppose

The highlight of the poem.

 

Yet sunny skies and swaying palms

Don’t equal paradise,

So don’t surmise that lifestyle calms,

Though while you’re there it’s nice.

 

New York has faults and though it’s true

That life here can be hard,

You can’t just waltz through what you do;

It’s tough in that regard.

 

For where you live is in your bones –

The good parts and the not,

So you forgive what causes moans

And deal with what you’ve got.