with the sorry glance of a homeless black man wearing a weightlifting belt
for a reason i couldn't quite imagine, but in the end i'm sure was heart-felt,
i dragged my sorry ass to the bus stop, where i waited for my tear-ducts to melt
leaning on the chilled light post that made the new pain wake up with a "what the hell"

and i began to think analytically, standing right there on 34th street
on a stumble-of-a-span between 2nd and 69th, i calculated myself to be in the middle of it
i looked at the overweight black woman standing next to me with pride
we could split the world right there in half, i thought, her black, me white

and for some reason, i imagined her wearing a weightlifting belt, over her black designer pants
maybe because i desperately wanted for the city streets to make sense
with dead-end streets to smell like urine and have quiet strangers waiting in a trance
then maybe i could hold her hand over warm morning tea, or at least give her a chance