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all that

the only things I remember about

New York City

in the summer

are the fire escapes

and how the people go

out on the fire escapes

in the evening

when the sun is setting

on the other side

of the buildings

and some stretch out

and sleep there

while others sit quietly

where it's cool.

 

and on many

of the window sills

sit pots of geraniums or

planters filled with red

geraniums

and the half-dressed people

rest there

on the fire escapes

and there are

red geraniums

everywhere.

 

this is really

something to see rather

than to talk about.

 

it's like a great colorful

and surprising painting

not hanging anywhere

else.

Written by
Charles Bukowski
1920-1994 / Male / American
Lines·Words
32·111
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