Grand Street

His foot held the door,
To the alley in back
Where the hotel’s kitchen let out
And the night butcher stood
'Neath a dim iron moon
And spoke to himself right out loud
Spoke to himself right out loud
I gave him some room
And waited for you,
Sat on the steps like a kid
Polished my boots
On the back of my calf
And smoked like it was something I did,
Smoked like it was something I did
That summer was thick
And as still as a nun
On the steps of St. Michael’s on Grand
Who scowled at a window
Propped up with a broom
That aired every moan of a man,
That aired every moan of a man
You spoke from behind me,
«You look like a soldier
Guarding the president’s train»
Taking my arm,
A scarf on your head
As if, oh dear God, it could rain,
As if, oh dear God, it could rain
His foot held the door,
To the alley in back
Where the hotel’s kitchen let out
And the night butcher stood
'Neath a dim iron moon
And spoke to himself right out loud
Spoke to himself right out loud