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III.  Panhandler on the F Train


Dark petals and fronds beckon

even to the crewcut youngster in uniform,


a paperbagged bottle their decorative accessory.

The grave boy stops.  Mothers


across the car stiffen, raceless,

speak with eyebrows.  Crash of passage


obliterates many words, but we hear

him call the boy 'sir', his practiced


solo leaving the wives in Mexico

and California (plus two here) he'd sung


to the brother who listened till the last Manhattan

stop, for variations now basso,


military.  We see his ashy sockless

feet in wingtips.  And a scrubbed hand does


leave book for pocket, pull wrinkled

potent dollar from a grownup leather


wallet, to pay the future for another

drink.  We'd know his mother if she came


aboard.  Night's petals close

over their earnings, while the crafted performance


goes on graciously - but this boy's done

what he could, needs to read his lesson,


takes his book to the car ahead.

The next stop's mine.  He paid his dollar.


The brother before him listened for two

long stops.  We watched.  The panhandler


knows we watched and heard both

tailored offerings.  He pops his throwaway


cane under his arm and hops

on an impulse out ahead of me, way


ahead on the platform, into a train

about to go back up the uptown track.



IV.  The Mystery of First Day On the Uptown Express


In that corner of the train, not

one of the new trains, there was no doubt:

next to the conductor busy with

his window on the long caves


the dusty and as if sanded down

young man was establishing a center.

His leaning forward on his

knees changed my balance.


When the peddler came he brought three

religious calendars painted on rolled bamboo

and a fat aunty clutching the pole

told him she liked his choices.


His eyes moved deliberately

as if he looked always out the same window

at one scene and had time to notice

its important but unsurprising seasons.


The conductor gave him instructions twice

mild and precise as to a sick cousin.

His hands slow on his rolled calendars

seemed to remind themselves of touching.


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