Le Deux Gamins

It’s unfortunate.

The more that the years pass

The more distant the memory.

Or was it a dream?

When I sat outside

In my boisterous years

At a cafe table

Set up

In front of 

Le Deux Gamins

In the warm spring

In the West Village.

Watching the morning sun explode

Salmon orange

In the east

Inbetween

And above the dark buildings

Canyonizing 

The city 

Yawning before me.

I was eating the best almond croissant

That NYC had to offer.

And when the French waitress or waiter

Went back inside

I poured brandy 

Into our over-sized soup bowl

Cafe au laits.

We would watch

The last flambouyant creatures 

Walk past

Shedding all-nighters

From the Stonewall

Or the Monster

Just around the corner.

After

We would take our newspapers

Or journals

Out to Sheridan Square

Which was really not a square

But more of a triangle

And listen to the late morning unfold 

Around us

Amongst unfurling green leaves

And flowering buds

Hustlers and homeless people

Garbage tumbling in the breeze

New spring birds

Figuring 

Their 

“Jump-In” level

To the old school guard

Against the symphony 

Of traffic.

At the time

The 

Rest of the day

Was a multicolored jawbreaker

A syrupy gift

That lasted slowly

Against the pace 

Of the city

Unfolding

With every footstep 

I took.

Back then 

It was not unheard of

To walk by foot

Back and forth

From the East Village

To the West

And 

Vice versa.

Not much else of importance existed 

Below Canal Street

Or above 14th.

Paradise was here

Where

Every step I took

Was a piece of confectionery magic.