Thoroughfare

A song cycle between two places

Written for Keith Jameson

Music: Conrad Cummings

Lyrics: Mark Campbell
 
 
57
It’s over.

The End.

Finished.

Done.

Now at least I know why

He’s been remote of late.

Also why the sex has been

A tad “sedate.”

No drama,

No tears.

Civil.

Friends.

Yay.

Not for me to show fear,

Recoil, flinch or balk

When he said those fatal words:

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah, you know that guy?

Enrique?

In London?

The architect?

Totally random,

And, um, unplanned—

It turns out that we uh…

Well, we uh we uh…

I uh I uh…

He uh he uh…”

I put on my best Deborah Kerr:

And said “I uh understand.”

Did he really lift his suitcase,

Pat my hair down, turn away,

Wave at me inside his cab

To JFK?

Did he?

…Yup, kid.

He did.

Right here,

A place that I will always

Recall with regret.

Here,

Where I now spin around like

A ball in roulette.

Never landing,

On black or red,

Ever spinning,

With mounting dread.

Here,

At Columbus Circle.
 
Interlude
 
We’d seen some stupid show,

And it was under that marquee,

In front of a hundred people standing there,

You laid the best kiss on me.
 
45
 
It’s like a death.

Someone dies,

And all the novels they read,

All the music they heard,

All the places they went,

Die with them.

Every experience.

Gone

It’s like a death.

When love’s done,

That soggy weekend upstate

Didn’t happen,

Making out at the game,

Never occurred,

And the first “I love you,”

Never said or heard.

Forgotten.

Every experience,

Gone.

And at 45th

As Broadway stretches out

In front of me,

I think:

I live in a city

Without a memory.
 
Interlude
 
We’d had a minor fight

Inside that deli there.

You said “I think my problem is

I’m starting to really care.”
 
37
 
Why I pegged you as

The One.

Big “T,” Big “O,”

I’ll never know.

But there you were,

My lover,

My partner,

The person,

I’d never forsake.

My soul mate,

My only,

(Give or take).

I even had dreams,

Call them passé,

That we’d share a life,

Get married one day.

Devolve into flab,

If not with a kid,

At least with a Lab,

Chocolate.

Henry.

That’s what I dreamt

As sure as night follows day,

As sure as fate, as sure as time,

As sure as I’m standing here,

In Herald Square,

Behind yet another tourist

Who is spatially unaware.

Why I pegged you as

The One.

Big “T,” Big “O,”

I’ll never know,

Never know why.

And who’s

The idiot?

Big “I”.
 
31
 
I hope your flight crashes—

Drops from the sky,

A ball of fire that pours

Ashes all over one of

Enrique’s achromatic decors!!

Rage. Yes!

Rage is useful now,

Hellfire raining down,

In old Korea town.

Tears. Yes!

Tears are welcome now.

Let the tear ducts burst

Right here on thirty-first.

Home.

Home.

I will go home.

Slam the door,

Shout, weep, break things,

Have a torrential cry,

Let it pour!

This one hurts–

Really hurts–

Like nothing

Ever before.

…Or should I walk some more…
 
Interlude
 
Right here on twenty-eighth,

Amid a mix of ice and snow,

You told me that you needed me.

That was just a year ago.

25

Madison Square Park.

I pause,

I sit.

Romance,

Or love,

Over.

I’m done.

It’s through.

I quit.

Edith Wharton—she must’ve strolled here.

Seen her Lily Bart, sitting there, alone.

A character whose mirthful love life

Is not unlike my own.

Skies have grown dark.

May rain.

I stand,

And resolve,

To stay

Lonely,

Detached,

Untouched,

Un-manned.

Then right here amid,

The trees grayed by urban strife,

A ray of sun bounces,

From the gilding,

Of the pyramid,

Atop the building,

Called New York Life.

Another person catches sight

Of the brilliant, sudden light,

We exchange a smile,

A New York smile,

And move on.