no break in the fever in a cold city
that usually goes summerless
except for light
the toothless and the tourists
haltered girls and hustlers
swirl in the democracy of heat
three dozen players hunch at tables
on the sidewalk playing chess
focused on the game so do they see
the stencil on the table tops?
the sponsor's faded message:
jesus is the lord.
and there are other texts:
a marble facade
with corinthian columns,
sealed by plywood on the street
has a sixth floor sign,
gangrenous letters spell out
furniture and carpets
an empty theater,
no show's played there for years
but the marquee still beckons
b rg in mat nee dail t 2:00
the purple fronted one next door
has a poster of a naked woman
inviting me to touch the magic.
of what? industrial bodies sold by
the minute or the ounce?
a tiny smoke shop
open to the sidewalk,
beneath the glass counter top
a jumbled spread of crack pipes
and a tired looking proprietor
in a sari and red dotted forehead
has she seen as much sadness
as her eyes and mouth
seem to say?
the man who drums on buckets
has a good audience today, as in:
they're putting money in his basket.
good for you, larry with the big smile.
his pied piper thing with kids unfolds,
while i listen, while i watch
an old mechanic talks to me
he has a plastic bag stuffed with
crudely knitted woolen hats,
a bad sell on a hot day.
the escalator to the subway is dead
people stand there waiting for it to move
on the train the air conditioning is broken,
it's hot and reeks of some outgassing
cleaning products or disinfectant
the passengers are grimacing and fanning
an advertisement on the wall of the car
for a traveling exhibit at a museum:
Titanic, the artifact show.
still hot when i get off the train
the chubby girl in front of me
is having trouble keeping her
cutoff sweatpants
from creeping up her ass
phil's cafe is always different
a piano against the wall today
i don't think it was there before
and a customer sits down to
play old standards in an
awkward
stilted
style
that
fits
to
a
t.
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