54th Street Poem by H. Rand Swansey

Steam rises through a sidewalk grill,
manifesting itself in the frigid winter air
like a

fetid urban ghost;

I pause in my shuffle, allowing,
for a moment, its stagnant humidity to

rise
beneath my skirts
to penetrate my flesh,
to assuage my complaining bones, as

respectability personified

passes before me,
his Prada heels clicking their accusations
on the cold concrete,
and casts his semblance of a furtive glance

my way.What he thinks I need not wonder: I have
heard it all before in the gazes of the countless
masses of respectability who

inhabit this

island.