Down on 14th Street
And the Avenue of the Americas
A well- tempered host
Invades
All corners are marketed
And open to be sacked
The bums can't hit up
A chump for change
Sliding worldly by
Their skin of teeth
Diminished
This was our sacred reservation
(They cry)
Our Wall Street demarcation
A ragged palisade
Against those avenging angels
Who would let ride
Their positions
Over our concrete margin
Now that life's a beach
With nothing beneath 14th
How many Americas
Will get burned
To keep this avenue
Stoked
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
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