The homeless Russian woman on the bench in the subway greeted each of us
as Sir and asked for small favors.

“Is it cold too much?” – pointing upstairs
“Can you take dollar and buy me candy bar?”

The city is reduced to one comical honk and a child
that screams.

Shut the Fuck. Up.

Like a skyscraper
I’m wobbly
and I want credit for everything

The tip jar fills up with dollars;
like spent casings from wordless transactions.
Hot to the touch–
I like to think of them as notes from children
whose adult bodies grey with the color of money

and then waste them on a good fatty sandwich
in the cement corner near the table that holds old Thermos®, and needs
a couple of coasters under one leg to keep from shaking.

Thumbnail ‘Poison Dart Tips: Group of Three’ by QUOI Media Group//CC BY 2.0

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