home,
i try to wash the grime
of New York off me.
the streets,
the restaurants, the train.
the chaos and noise.
it's in my coat,
beneath my shoes,
under my skin.
i smell
food, and garbage,
stale wine and
puddled rain.
i feel the wind
off the Hudson.
the fatigue from standing
in lines.
swaying back
and forth
in careening taxis.
it was fun, exhausting,
expensive.
it's good to be home
again.
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