Shortbread and marmite

There’s a street in New York City
where it doesn’t feel like the city usually does
and poets spit nonsense truths
that make more sense than religion.
Let’s eat day old bread with tea
and run screaming through the streets with
eternity at our backs
and Nike’s on our feet.
We’ll buy strangers shortbread and marmite
the virulent strumpet Sally wants lemon meringue
and we’ll cry, but we’ll buy her an entire pie
and write poems
to try and understand
what it all means.