I didn't come this far
to become another Florida sunset.
The palm trees are fine.
The strip malls are fine.
The humidity can go to hell.
Cancer picked the wrong address.
I've still got subway platforms
to complain about,
winter to curse,
a deli guy who doesn't know
he's going to save my morning.
If death wants me,
it can find me
walking home in New York,
carrying groceries,
late for something.