Mad Adam left the loft—
A quarter after eight.
His consuming need to
Nosh made him quite irate.
A tourist new in town
Not used to trash waist-high,
Sought advice from Elmo
On city streets nearby.
His guide knew Adam’s quest,
Wanting the “Best Pizza,”
He did not know Elmo
Came from Srebrenica.
Jumping over puddles,
The ones that never dried,
Adam vowed to find chow
Without a Michelin guide.
Down the long avenues
Cross streets of piss and phlegm,
Crowded like McDonald’s
Near high schools—3:00 p.m.
Now into the subway:
So dirty, hot, and late.
No money in his hand,
Poor Adam hopped the gate.
Exiting the station,
The homeless had increased,
With smells of truck exhaust
And months-old kitchen grease.
Looking for restaurants,
Just one that he would love,
Pausing to wipe his eyes
From A/C juice above.
Famished to annoyance,
He hit a pretzel stand.
High-glycemic carbs—gross!
Unsalted, stale, and bland.
Walking across the street,
Oh! Adam had to prance—
The bikers rode like hell,
Like in the Tour de France.
Passing by bodegas,
His resolve did harden.
25,000 places—
Please not Olive Garden!
Walking by old delis,
And immigrants in tents,
Locals’ favs all shut down—
All due to rising rents.
He wandered to the docks;
Fishboats had long come in.
He declined the seafood
Because of cadmium.
Though tempted as he was,
Crab smelled quite delicious,
But PCBs are found
In hepatopancreas.
Irked with tummy grumbling,
He sat down on a stoop.
Wet warmth on his bottom
Revealed fresh brown dog poop.
Grabbing old newspapers
Stuck on a heating grate,
His search to nosh—to eat—
Had gone on far too late.
Few caveats he had
Feeding his poor belly.
No C-grade restaurants.
No charges at delis.
He came to NYC
For one single reason:
To find a menu with
Asparagus (in season).
Adam munched on popcorn;
The bag cost ten whole bucks,
Would his evening meal come
From off a foul food truck?
To dine on city streets
Would not be paradise.
He didn’t want to share
With roaches, rats, and mice.
In a world-class city,
Over eight million souls,
Finding good cheap dining
For people? Common goals.
Different citizens,
Races and religions.
Surely there was more here
Than aggressive pigeons?
Perhaps he should travel
Over the distant strands—
Calzones from New Jersey?
Or wings from Long Island?
Maybe take a chance on
Where all the people go.
But there were no hours
To spend at Trader Joe’s.
He could steal from DoorDash—
Food right off from the rack.
But police arrest you
When pilfering Shake Shack.
More angry as he walked,
Inflamed to level nine!
In search of daily bread.
In search of good red wine.
Lobster, Waldorf salad,
Maybe a stale cronut?
Homemade chicken parm would
Be welcome in his gut.
Vichyssoise or chili
Would cure his food cravings.
Chops, steak, and a cold beer
Ceases wild ravings.
His anger reached the point,
Searing enough to cook.
A quest for a great meal;
No good place left to look.
Traversing Manhattan
Was quite a weary slog.
Adam finally settled
On “dirty water dogs.”