I Want to Be Friends with a Panther

I live in the coffee breath of neighborhoods
and wear the wrong everything,
just ask the bandana in my skyrocket,
which today was white and tomorrow will be soft yellow.

I open my cab door
on the bad side of the subject,
always hoping to ruin
a cyclist's day.

Have you ever noticed that
New York City's white people
in the rain remind the world
that jazz music exists?

No one has
and no one will,
and I need to start working out again,
and I will start tomorrow or the day after that.