As Things Pass

A leaf skates across the sidewalk,

caught in a swirl of wind;

it lands with a sigh 

On the edge of a curb, unnoticed.

A constant flow of people move beneath skyscrapers.

A woman in a red coat pauses at the end of the street,

her scarf fluttering in the wind.

She clutches a small paper bag

(maybe lunch or a gift) tightly in one hand.

She jaywalks against the crowd of cars

like a true New Yorker.

Nearby, a man sits on the curb,

shoes untied, a cigarette dangles from his lips

as he exhales

the smoke slowly drifts into the air.

Across the street, a bike messenger cuts through the crowd,

his tires spraying water from the recent rain.

A pigeon pecks at an old napkin,

its head bobbing in sync with the others

The air smells thick 

of hairspray, shampoo, or something chemical.

A row of mirrors stretches down the wall, 

each face with different emotions;

a woman grinning, thrilled with her new haircut,

while a young man forced a smile, his eyes cast down.