Scratcher

You walk into the bar early, Monday afternoon and only a few scattered patrons chatting quietly at the tables. Your regular bartender is back after summer, you're back after summer, New York remains as ever, reliable. He gave the cats away, he did a two week stint at a Frank Sinatra show in Ocean City, you tell him of the Road, he looks tired, did the city break him so soon, did Broadway not shine so bright in the rearview mirror, you want to tell him that everything is his for the taking, want to tell him that if you can live in a Midtown darkness without an address to your name then he can carry on without the cats, that New York has so much more to offer and when the seasoned bartender shows up and breaks into a beaming smile upon seeing you, you want to tell New York that it is everything that was ever good in your life, that anything you dared to do came from living on these streets and when the night at last is over and you pack up and go home, you miss your stumbling walk down sixth street but at least you are here, at least you are here, and it mended every broken bone in your soul,
you are not sorry. 

Some days your cup is filled
with more than it could ever hold;
and those days are worth
all the rest.