Boston

Slabs of granite

Border the eastern harbor’s highways,

All blue and no fluff offer

Dazzling windy days,

In great halls of steaming chowder,

And towers that take you to heaven

With a sea of cerulean stretching out from the shoreline.

All the beauty of an abusive tell tale world…

You see the poorest of the trodden souls

College kids in dirty, little studios

Rapid to spend the lining from their pockets--

Come have a beer in Hahvahd Yahd

Join the pubs

Listen to the Sox on the radio

Your Yankee parents’ll never know.

We drive from exit to exit

Beverly to Dedham and back to Logan again,

Martha’s vineyard is taking its time

And when you turn on the rain

My soul is still here

It still shines on the quarry,

Head held high

Down through jagged rocks

And the cliffs I’m passing by

This harbor girl is proud of her sailor’s mouth

And The North End in which her morning glory

Smiles down on paradise.