Where Am I? Poem by Mark Heathcote

Zero visibility in Downtown New York
rain slanting sideways, tourists on
a death mission to disembark
like an aluminous street ballad on the march
walking amongst the traffic to ascertain
"where am I? " "Where do I go from here? "
Please, please, can you direct me, dear?

"Look, lady, let me make myself clear
it isn't safe to stand around here.
Please sir, Please sir, can you direct me-
to the Waldorf-Astoria, I came out for a walk.
My daughter, she'll be worried about where I am at.
I don't mean to bother you, sir, but I'm lost.
Lady gets inside the back seat; you're the boss.