Dreams of My Father

When I die I’ll be a ghost of the air
In New York City and fly around there
And loop between downtown and Inwood Park
Like a bat whirling madly in the dark

Perhaps I’ll meet my father while flying.
Estranged in life, united in dying
He did always love the touristy side.
Chinatown, Broadway, the Upper West Side.

I imagine the past is like a ghost
Existing someplace where you’d miss it most.
Most of my memories do not exist
Paved and vanished right into the mist.

But I would do well in the New York past
Twin towers still looming and no bike path
Just desolate piers and rundown Crown Heights
A reeling aftermath of prior nights.

Father awaits me in the land of Death
In dreams I still feel his hands on my neck.