I wrote this poem last year on a park bench in Washington Square Park.
I carried an umbrella, walking down Fifth Avenue, waiting for the rain to fall. I held one of Patti Smith’s first books at the Strand. I admired Robert Mapplethorpe’s photographs at the Guggenheim. I told a man from Africa about Toni Morrison in Central Park. I was forced to cross the street due to security in front of the Flatiron building. I heard different languages in elevators and on sidewalks. I had a conversation about the weather with a girl from Jersey who lives in Brooklyn. I listened to a band play in Washington Square Park on a Friday afternoon. I endured uncomfortable benches because I wanted to stay outside for as long as possible. I tried to be productive while people watching. I noted every book I had read while roaming around the Strand. I explained to a woman the difference between the local and express trains going Uptown.
