Crows’ screams crush my ears.
The brutal sun in the window.
The wind strokes and burns my eyes.
Cars have wheels, schoolchildren backpacks,
pregnant women engorged bellies.
Elevators swallow and disgorge.
Morning bangs into cellphones.
Can and bottle collectors tear open
heavy-duty plastic recycling bags.
Dogs sprinkle on signs.
A woman stops in the middle of the crosswalk,
says to me: “I’m a cashier in the subway.
People swear and spit at me.”
The friendly man in a wheelchair wishing all
a good day is not by the Starbucks.
I put away the dollar bill I held in my hand.