all i want
is a philly cheese steak
not the kind from penn station
but the real ones
from joes
you know,
on 42nd street
where miles
and monk
are played on the corner
by sax mills
and for a dime
you can hear it
loud as the honking horns
blowing in time with the bustling street
while men wearing black bow ties
try to sell me bean pies
allah for a dollar

yeah,
there is where i go
after the grill has been
used all day
and the grease is caked up
like layered pastries
cause that's when they taste best
smothered in onions
and provolone cheese
thicker than
a baby wrapped in a winter blanket

yeah man,
this is my daily bread