I grew up in the staid Midwest,
where children always brushed with Crest.
The lawns stretched for eternity;
a fine place for a squirrel or tree.
But restless feet, and on a dare,
sent me to gawk at bright Times Square.
While there a mendicant implored
a bit of my quite modest hoard.
Unshaven, breathing Smirnoff fumes,
his presence still before me looms;
for he was not a beggar mere --
for coin he would recite Shakespeare!
And so he did, as Hamlet rolled
right off his tongue like bards of old.
He got a dollar bill from me,
then followed so tenaciously,
a-spouting sonnets by the score,
that even Grant's Tomb was a bore.
At last I called a man in blue
to rid me of this bugaboo.
But ever since, I've often pined
for New York mendicants refined.
When plague is done, I'm sure to yearn
for Broadway bums who quote Swinburne!
#JanesWalkNYC
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