dmseay

Three urban wanderers crossed my path at Gramercy Park; a young bull pushing a keg…..a Millennial texting, talking, multitasking her way to a spiritual awakening……a lady of a bygone era pulling a Radio Flyer filled with favorites.

So sorry, she pivoted, almost on point…I do apologize….

What….what are you talking about?

I almost ran you over, she took two steps and placed a pale lined hand on my chest, please forgive me….

You’re fine mame….you’re more than fine…..placed my hand in hers above a belly shaking from the chill…

Wait, a pointer went up to the sky, just you wait, stood still….Look what I got…

From the bottom of the red wagon, a small orange lopsided ball emerged..it was tossed in the air with a chuckle….and applause as caught.

When I was a kid we always got tangerines in our stockings….how bout you?

Yes…yes mame I did….

They call them Clementines…..I say they’re Christmas Oranges….Open it….

Within two minutes the gift was ripped apart…..Here, take this….four slices were offered…both of us took our bites…we looked at each other….cabs drove by, dogs walked their humans, and rain began to fall….

Merry Christmas….she smiled…

Yes mame……Merry Christmas to you…..

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(Sunday lunch at St. Xavier)

Christ hung out with homeboys, whores, hustlers, and homeless; Render unto Caesar.

Shorty was holding court…..the line formed…..all listened..all watched.

Now…I’m telling you…we gonna be stuck with Hillary, an “oh shit,” was heard from those in line awaiting their Sunday blessing.

See….the Republicans got nobody….nobody, Shorty pulled his earplugs out, looked up and down the sidewalk, they got nobody.

What about Trump? asked a big man, a Sunday regular accustomed to Shorty’s sermons, he’s high in the polls…

Heads nodded, throats cleared, a fear of impending doom was cast down 15th Street.

That shit be cooked up, Shorty said with a grin and a twitch of his stache, motherfucker been in bed with Hillary the whole damn time, eyes got bigger, ears tuned in.

Trump don’t want that damn job….he just like being in the spotlight…and dat cracker Clinton know dat shit..

A tale was told, a plot unfolded of a well crafted plan by the 42nd president to assure his faire maiden’s desires…

You get Trump to swing this fucked up place so far right that Hillary would look middle of the road as can be…PT Barnum….There’s a sucker born every minute.

So you think this was all planned? the fat man puzzled….That’s right, Shorty floated a bandana as if magic were in the air….It’s showtime…

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On the sidewalk in front of St. Pat’s… a feast was placed.
A pizza covered by cardboard….eggplant sandwiches wrapped in brown paper doilies, salads in plastic bowls….an array of dressings; decisions…decisions…decisions…

Picasso’s blue lady looked down at the buffet….then looked at me….down at the treasure….back for my approval….
I nodded yes…..a smile…. a wink was returned…..

One hand held a large slice….while the eggplant was squeezed by the other; Dark Eyes alternated back and forth…a nibble of cheese….a hard bread ripped by a soft mouth. … ecstasy.

Beautiful…..just beautiful….eating….not caring….people walked past….some gawked….others too busy with texting and talking and googling and tweeting and and and….

We waved goodbye….she threw me a kiss….I blew one back.
God bless you Dark Eyes.

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Rich autumnal  colors bring memories of you. An algae covered bell accents the picture; a tiered fence between us. It is Indian Summer in November; the dying never looked so good.

Source: The Window

The line was drawn; his side, my side; do not cross.

Little by little items were strategically placed; shoes, a towel, dress slacks hungover the bench, a kolpik worn…

words…Hey, do you mind?….do you mind?

What? what….give me a minute..this space is small…a minute I ask…

why not…

You got a problem?

No….no problem…

You know…nobody wants you here…..

Yes….yes…..me…or…

All…all of you…

Yes…of course….

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(diner on Lexington, Upper Eastside)

Pass the salt…

I told Sol….

Told him what…fucking egg salad…

Told him call you on Thursday…you could fit…

Why? pepper…pass the pepper.

Take the call?

What? from who..why’d you do this?

I’m obligated…

Fuck that….fuck obligations..

(Lunch at Mainchance Drop in Center)

Yo pass the salt this motherfucker got no flavor…..this is some bullshit…yo…it be flat and shit….

Watch your mouth….

It do be flat….(whispered) motherfucker…

That’s it…you out…I done warned you enough…

Fuck you and fuck this mother fucking place bitch…

You got five minutes to get your stuff and leave Mr. Brown….

Aint that a motherfucking bitch.

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Sour and rancid…she drove the natives wild; bellowing, yelling, covering mouths and carrying-on; Christ put up with less.

Piss covered, spat upon….the fragile Latina smiled with arms outstretched…
A giggle…a wiggle…while servants of the poor poured powders and sprays; a vain attempt for whom?

Her laugh grew louder, louder, and louder with interspersed prayers, “save me Lord….save me Lord.”

And then, like magic the stench was gone, lifted from her brown wrinkled skin…leaving a glow upon the saint as wings lifted her higher and higher and higher and higher…..

To the least of my brethren.

Viera Wang sat next to me at the diner; a double take was took.

My wife wore a dress of yours, I told Wang…..lovely…just lovely.

Oh, thank you, she said; went back to The Times; coffee was stirred, cream was poured.

She left me for a Shylock; imagine that…Still, she looked beautiful in that Vera Wang Wedding gown.

The fashionista nodded politely, smiled, went back to the paper.

Your dress….that’s what did it.

I was mugged; smartphone pointed at my head, by an Ivy Leaguer sporting a business suit in Zuccatti Park.

Give me everything, he whispered sternly; I want it all..I gave…he took.

Within minutes all was gone; debit cards, visa cards, mortgage payments, my Metra card, Social Security card, Medicaid card, my hopes, my history, my pot to piss in….gone….gone…gone.

The shoes, he said. Give me the shoes too. And the belt…off with it…everything; left naked, frightened, angered, humiliated; ready to quit….why not?

The cellphone was removed from the right temple…don’t you even think about it..lips moving without a sound.

What’s in the bag? he warned. The bag…open the bag.
The Merchant of Venice was pulled out…he tapped my chest with the hardbound book.

I’m Jamie fucking Dimon, CEO of JP motherfucking Morgan you cunt….and that is how we roll…

I want equality….she said.
Spoken to, not shit upon….respect….Si?

Yes..got it.

The line has been crossed; fix it.

Alright.

Now….treat me like a lady.

Why not.