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HYMN OF NOT MUCH PRAISE FOR NEW YORK CITY

When the windows of the West Side clash like cymbals in the setting

sunlight,

And when wind wails amid the East Side’s aerials,

And when, both north and south of thirty-fourth street,

In all the dizzy buildings,

The elevators clack their teeth and rattle the bars of their cages,

Then the children of the city,

Leaving the monkey-houses of their office-buildings and apartments,

With the greatest difficulty open their mouths, and sing:

“Queen among the cities of the Earth: New York!

Rich as a cake, common as a doughnut,

Expensive as a fur and crazy as cocaine,

We love to hear you shake

Your big face like a shining bank

Letting the mad world know you’re full of dimes!

“This is your night to make maraccas out of all that metal money

Paris is in the prison-house, and London dies of cancer.

This is the time for you to whirl,

Queen of our hopped-up peace,

And let the excitement of your somewhat crippled congas

Supersede the waltzes of more shining

Capitals that have been bombed.