The woman crouched in a blanket in the slush
on 46th street is taking deep breaths
during rush hour.
She is wet and cold, she has no place to go,
and winter is only beginning.
Citizens with destinations stride by her
in pressed clothing
and their faces tell their feelings.
The broker's displeasure with the city's
condition, and the daily pained reminders of
suboptimalization.
The pretty account exec's cheerful denial
that a bad fate might await her one day.
The tourist who, seeing another person losing
a handhold on life, is afraid for himself.
You want to stand the woman up,
slap the sleet from her hair and send her
on an invisible errand,
giving phone sex or counting traffic or
handing out bills to busy pedestrians,
but God has made her incompetent
and us indifferent, except for one woman
in a strawberry hat, who walks past, stops,
fiddles with her pocketbook, and places
a five in the paper cup.
"A masterpiece of explanatory journalism!" - New Orleans Picayune |
