The Legacy of East 21st Street

Iced up on the inside this window shows the early traffic
pushing towards the tallest buildings,
with her busy sidewalks covered in dark snow,
once again I sit at this table.

The smell of hot coffee wrapped in my hands
makes me remember.
Through the heavy bass
and blinding tempo of swing music.
Coming from an old transistor radio
with a coat hanger antenna.

I still see him sitting here with me
Grey face and sunken eyes
I felt helpless to all I could offer.

Quietly waiting,
a prisoner lost in time,
I tried to reach him
but he too could remember.

We talked of baseball, the weather,
and all the other props
that could expend time
in a given life.


In the months before he died
I took him to Shea field
watching in awe as the old man
came to life.

His eyes brightened with the smell
of fresh roasted peanuts.
He savored each inning
he roared with the lions
taking me back with him.

Afterwards we sat here
not looking out the window.

He remembered younger days aloud,
him and Irene spending hours at Shea,
lighting the street lamps with the sound of swing.

All the romance two souls could muster
in a one bedroom flat, lost in the big apple.
All the world was alive,
when he was living.

Since her death he waited to be with her.
He lived in the memories
hidden behind every street corner,
drowned by the sound of the subway,
lost in all they had left behind.

Serenity had finally found him
in his memories.
I heard the bell on the door
when he left the diner
remembering his grey face
and salty smile he flashed.

The old man reached me
beyond all my efforts to save him.
The love he had for Irene lived in me
his legacy.
Somehow on that day I was suddenly lost
in the things he left behind

Now I sit here with my coffee
between my hands
a smile for the old man.
When the bell on the door rings out.

I turn around to look at her.
I can only see the best part of my life
in all the days ahead.
Sitting in an warm diner on East 21st Street.