GUTTER
A lot of this is disgust. In the
early morning, bright, this Manhattan
sun just coming up slaps the buildings
with a here and there shaft of startling
light. No one looks up : The too-busies
are out there, everywhere, here. Smokers
and dust bunnies, coffee cups and yappers,
phone mouths and faces, the lame and the limp.
Just another sordid day, arriving already with
its steam-loads of baggage and grime. The UPS
guy jumps down from his truck, bumping the
grind past the FedEx guy doing the same from
his. It's all alike - endless food-kitchen-service
trucks, dairy and candy-bar deals. This whole
world here rides on food and diet. Make mine
sweet, make mine brown, but complete. Leave
it open, it'll be gone in a minute alone. Two cops,
three mailmen, a gift-cart guy, and that greasy
bum with the wavy hair, looking for dollars,
everywhere. This is the world that turns.
This is the world that opens to light.
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