Daydream At the money deliI ordered a quarter pound of twenties,lean.The deli guy wrapped the bills neatlyin wax paperand I stepped to the registerwhere the cashier asked mehow I wanted to pay.I was stumped,so I shuffled a soft-shoeand sang When You’re Smiling.The cashier clapped,mildly amused.“Very nice,” she said,“but that’s an old songand these are new
Where I Live gangster saxophonesteam and spit valvenighttimealways nighttimein this neighborhoodof permanently puddled streetstime lapse scaffoldingincidental crossing islandsnowherein this irregular geometryof pedestrian clotted grated sidewalksrattling trucks and doppler sirensis it ever quietit’s how we know all’s wellor as well as things get down herewhere we step out on ourfire escapesto scan the street belowand eavesdrop
