37 years

Lincoln Plaza Cinema lived
As long as Alexander Pushkin.
A bullet killed the poet.
A NYC rent increase
destroyed the theater.
Another bank will spring
To print more money.
Another store will sell more
gold plated toilets.
The memories will soon fade.
For how long will I remember
A quiet foyer, a salmon sandwich,
Three dozen people in a room
Watching Loving Vincent that made
Less money than it cost?
I grieve. I try to find a solace.
My legs will grow strong
From biking all the way
To West 4th or Houston st.
When I want to see a movie
Not made by Lucas. Or Spielberg.

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