POEM: carbon copy

I wrote this tonight while listening to Amy Cervini at The 55 Bar in NYC. I wrote a poem the last time I saw Amy Cervini, too. This one is a combination of autobiography (although less so than in many of my poems) and things seen and overheard.

carbon copy

thunder rolls through the West Village
the bar patrons pull their glasses closer
basement captives of the summer rain

I learned recently that all I need to do
is find a carbon copy of you
somewhere on the streets of New York

the only time anyone calls is when I’m here
bartender hands me the phone
greasy with city dust and sweat

I put it to my ear but nothing’s there
not the ocean
or the harsh sound of your laughter

if Johnny were here he’d know what to do
black is the new black
he’s always in style

but it’s just me
this whistling guitar player
the rain on the street outside