Life Is Nice Poem by Morgan Michaels

'Sometimes, life was fair', thought Donnie, 'but mostly it wasn't'.

Waiting on the platform for the 5 train, uptown. He gave his thought the once-over. Satisfied, he began a second.

'You have to be alert to it, fairness. And, appreciative, when it turns'.

'Also, good, he decided, critiquing the finished thought in the way you'd critique the wrapping on a package.

'And, mostly, people weren't nice, but sometimes they were'.

Here, he spoke from experience, the triumvirate of thoughts complete. He thought of his mishap a minutes before: standing on the step, ready to head down, he'd pulled out his bill-fold, which slipped through his fingers and fell splat! onto the pavement, scattering plastic cards and slips of paper in every direction.The wind began to blow them away- the slips of paper, causing him panic. Yet, he didn't want to leave the fallen cards to chase the fleeing papers, many of which bore important phone numbers. It was a dilemma. On impulse, he leaned down and began to retrieve them- ATM cards, credit cards, calling cards- and, one that was blank and solid black. A helpful young woman materialized, and spotting his dilemma, unbidden, began to help collect the cards. She and Donnie reached for the black card at exactly the same time.

'Oh', she said, recognizing it at once, 'Do you go to that club, too'?

Donnie was in no mood to discuss club-going. It was too early and he was in a hurry to get to work. Besides, clubs in New York were things of the past- like taste, like money, like Him. They weren't even interesting, anymore. But she was nice and smiled nicely, and when she smiled, her hair fell in her face, obscuring the smile. Moreover, it was too early for a run-of-the-mill crazy to be up and about. He didn't care to be rude. Anyone could be rude. Rudeness was a sign of barbarism.

'It's been a while', he admitted, avoiding her eyes. 'But, I keep the membership for old time's sake'.