bag in hand, i make my way downtown

past the posters of young folks eating fresh

draped on the window of a foreclosed room

“we’ll see you soon!” they say;

past an ever-busy restaurant after six,

where two men dot the rooftop with their tools.

i carry myself along the wide–sided walk

past the spot i watched my streetcar cross

and tried, in vain, to catch;

past the mass of eager transit-goers waiting for the next,

whose commitment i respect

and laugh at as i walk along.

crossing down the food-truck street now

i glance around at restaurants past the way,

whose food i don’t believe i’ll ever taste;

past the slower students on my walk

who seem to have no place to go at all

coming now to where i need to be.

tired, now, and five hours older

i recount my way back along those same streets

and make it to the car this time, in time;

back out onto the street now, i watch the crowd march by

past the hand-made signs beside the ones from some store online

and note how loud we can sound with a soul inside.

and now i turn the corner, past a happy huddle of friends

past that ever-busy restaurant and the fleet of boys-on-bikes

prepared to ferry food across city streets, and i continue on

(i wonder what he eats before he sleeps at home?)

past the man puffing smoke between his fingers

and the smell that lingers on after he goes

until i find myself back where i began,

bag in hand;

and then i get to work.