By Justin Karcher
After Seeing West Side Story, I Start Wondering How We Can Make Buffalo Better
By JUSTIN KARCHER
When you're a Buffalonian
you're a Buffalonian all the way
from your first cigarette
to your last dyin' day
which makes us all a little blind
to the reality of living
on the eastern shore of Lake Erie
where shark girls are always piloting Tesla jets
straight into the sun’s black eye
they’re trying to get away from pigskin boys
sledding down hills on burning tables
or men wearing antifreeze suits dry-humping parking meters
people weighed down by canal-sized badges
or the scarlet letters you find in empty pizza boxes
the disappointing legacies we’re forced to carry
we also suffer from existential laziness
the kind of comfort that creates beds in our chests
so our hearts are always stoned & sleeping
still beating
but they have a hard time getting up in the morning
they never capitalize on the passion pumping through our blood
the dreams we don’t declare
but should
for example
the other day, a barista at Caffe Aroma asked me
“Why do you like living in Buffalo?”
it didn’t take me long to answer
“Because I like living in a city
where you only need to be at, like, 25%
to get by… you only need to look kinda nice
be kinda charming, be kinda funny
& you can basically get what you need”
the barista nodded & poured me my 18th cup of coffee
of the night
& as the lukewarm coffee lazy-riverd down my throat
I began to feel shitty about my answer
I began to realize that I’m probably blind too
I should care more
I should stop talking about what’s wrong with Buffalo
instead do everything in my power to make things better
but what does that even mean though?
maybe I should join a beauty-seeking gang
that roams the streets at night
stripping Buffalo to the bone & fighting the good fight
battling villains until the morning light
villains who sleep on beds of broken windshield glass
villains who freeze passionate lava with judiciary touches
villains who carve up neighborhoods into gentrified charcuterie
villains who smash up speakers with opioid hammers
villains who decree, “Too much bass, too much dancing
never try to shake off the feelings that crush our spirits
because this is Buffalo… walk into quicksand & love it!”
look, I firmly believe we’re trained in this city to ignore reality
we learn it at an early age
always telling ourselves that something’s coming
something good
so we dutifully listen to all those promises of a future
where heavenly condos have replaced half-filled theaters
where championships have replaced participation trophies
where solar-powered love has replaced moonlit mud-slinging
& we’ll all be making enough money
so we never have to struggle again
what promises!
look, we can’t lie to ourselves
like most nights I tell myself I’m experiencing weird Buffalo fairytales
yeah, that’s what I’m doing when I’m wandering around
then I share ‘em on Facebook
then I stare at my phone & wait for the validation
but what am I
what are we
really looking for though?
all the beautiful sounds of Buffalo
in a single song?
yeah, because all we wanna do is sing
I do believe in that
a song about how we want to live in a city
where the babies aren’t always crying
or where the bullets aren’t always flying
instead we want a hurricane of flowers in full bloom
a skyway you can drive on toward a culture of belonging
toward miracles that are always happening
no need for the sons & daughters of crystal meth
to live in darkness
but what is that darkness?
unemployed workers fighting a cold
that will never go away
no snow on the ground
but still a frostbite we can’t explain
a numbness we can’t outrun
a Downtown
where Xmas music is always playing
even though its spring
even though its fall
all these young
& desperate lovebirds
skating on ice rinks
that were formed
from the frozen-over tears of moms
whose kids have committed suicide
moms from other countries
moms from elsewhere
moms who climb a hill of skulls night after night
but it’s not really a hill of skulls
just a bunch of fat toilet paper rolls
that some unemployed artist drew skulls on
they’re piled high along the waterfront
you can smell the sharpie from miles away
before long, all the young & desperate lovebirds
will be extinct
I get it
if we truly pay attention, we’ll lose our minds
but we can’t go crazy though
let’s get cool, let’s take it slow
let’s turn off the juice
calmly swim to the bottom of this ocean
search for all the beauty we’ve cast aside
or have forgotten to pay attention to
I imagine a vanishing of crooked police officers
a vanishing of crime lords, no more murderers
no more false promises, no more athletes tweeting
what we’re so desperate to hear, no more assemblymen
saying words they don’t understand, imagine an epidemic
of ballet sweeping the city from north to south
east to west, imagine neighborhood gangs
setting aside their differences, becoming lovers
brothers or sisters & exploring abandoned department stores
in the middle of the night, the bones that are often
crumbled to dust in the name of progress
imagine them finding headless mannequins
bodies that lost their heads to misunderstanding
severed by the clouds because their feet couldn’t leave the street
now imagine those neighborhood gangs
rescuing the headless mannequins
& planting them in stages all over the city
eventually, new heads rise like spring flowers
mouths that will sing songs no matter the situation
a garden we can all take pride in
who knows what I am
what we are
dreamers, singers, hypocrites
we just wanna rock it tonight
jazz it tonight
a love that comes so strong
in the city we all call home
I like to think we’re halfway there
but I know I’m wrong
I guess I just wanna say that Buffalo should be a playground
where we’re always skinning our knees
& discovering what beauty means
a song that explains it all
why we fall
& why we get back up again
I guess I want us to operate with 100% of our hearts
because if not
it’s impossible to get that brand-new start
I don’t know
just hold someone’s hand
because maybe
we are halfway there
after all
when you're a Buffalonian
you're a Buffalonian all the way
from your first cigarette
to your last dyin' day