gak
The sun is shining
The taxis gleam
The frozen bridge-walkers sway
I’ve never seen such a day
No rides from the MTA
But it’s clear Christmas is coming
Hire me Bloomie I’ll get those trains running
I’m dreaming of a strike Christmas
Walking to work thru wind and snow
Where the traintracks glisten,
and lawyers listen
To commuters crying in the snow
I’m dreaming of a strike Christmas
With every transit card I light
May you freeze your ass while unions fight
And may all your Christmases be strikes
It could always be worse. You could be in Poland. BLS
PS Sing it, brother!
I bet you’re regretting the fact that you never invested in an NYC party bike built for 6. You’d be making a killing with one of those–charging $2.50 a ride.
Word on the street is that these select bike owners have been making disparging remarks towards walkies and asking “Who’s the genius now?” as they rumble all crazy-like around the streets of Manhattan.
I must say, that is one wicked good poem; I really like it.
Happy New Year!