Full Throttle

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I'm your mean city genie
and you're my bad witch
from the north.
we're in this together.
no more early to bed, early to rise.
your genie is out of the bottle,
about to do damage.

tomorrow the Brooklyn Bridge,
I'll climb the cables.
scuttle up that arch we call the castle wall.
cry out New York is a fairyland of scandal,
Madison Avenue phonies,  scabbed mouths,
jackals, long underwear,
cars and callous kisses.
I will lay you all in the dust.
kill me.  murder me.  
I could scream my bloody eyes out.
the problem is New Yorkers don't care.
when the cops come,
I'll offer them a sip of my Jim Beam.
tell them I am a genius.
they'll say yeah. yeah. yeah.
then carry me off.
in the holding cell,
I'll insist we rename the Empire State Building
the Daisy Duck tower.
got my courtroom plea planned.

next week Yankee Stadium,
three thousand feet down.
this is sacred ground.
no telling what the cops will do.
fans will throw beer cans. curse. scream.
I'll cry I love the Bronx Bombers
and Mickey Mantle.  
I'll run towards the dugout,
saying I come from a kingdom of genies.
I'm here to sell shampoo.
guards will seize me. deploy cuffs.
look for me on the evening news.

just bought us a 1500cc Hog,
a sleek American beauty.
I'll put on my saintly hat.
together we'll flee down green street.
seize the wind.
press our bodies close.
no top-notch cop will catch us.
yes, your hot rod hero
will fire up his folly full throttle.

by the way, before sleep
the other night,
I swore I heard you
whisper in my ear:
go barefoot over the flames.
you're on.