Musings of a half-awake mindWandering down 23rd street I wonderif the street vendor keeps his hands clean when cookingif the doctor stopping for her morning coffee will have to run for the articulated bus snaking its way uptownif the bus will get across town faster orif walking will save me a secondif traffic makes a jam then what do stoplights make?if that worker on the scaffold were to slip because he has no harness on would I have to catch him?if so, is he heavy? Or does his equipment just make him seem heavier like
The SidewalkI count the number of the umbrella-lessA face hidden in a hood, a frown flickering by in thehalogen street-lit evening asOne dropattaches itself to the pavement followed byanother andanotherThe pavement already stained by wads of gumcharred and steamrolled by a year's worth of shoesa discarded umbrella itsspokes once a proud crown nowa tangle of branchesand the pavement is painted grayer and grayer onepitter at a time until I walk on a canvas of monotoneAnd as the crowd shivers and cries moans ofhomesickness I wonderWhere do they all go when they leavethe rain?