Living now in a city that is not a city
by any commonly accepted definition, one
with no downtown, only a vast suburban
sameness, strip plaza after strip plaza,
I realize why I could never live in a city
like New York, why I am glad I decided
half a century ago to forego the cachet
of being part of a self-prestigious law firm.
Of course this isn’t the first time I have
thought of this, it happened every time
I went to the city, sitting in a cab, watching
cyclists and pedicab drivers zipping past us
as my cab sat mired in traffic that never seemed
to not be in the middle of a rush hour.
I thought of it most nights there when I was
dragged from sleep, tossed onto the rocks
of insomnia by the endless sirens, not one
the sort of beauty for who a sailor might
offer up his life in wholly misplaced hope.
Some thought I was crazy for turning down
the city, but I forgave them, for I knew
they were patients in the world’s largest asylum.