The pigeons huddle around their scraps and peck away, dispersing smaller crumbs like fireworks on display
The smaller birds take their share and fly away
On the next street over, trashbags sit next to sidewalk trees and are labeled “BED BUGS DO NOT OPEN”
They assume that feral cats can read and would avoid during its nightly scowl
And that the man without a home cares
Predictably, the bags have been perforated the morning after
Birds wearly peck away what food remains
The smaller ones carry theirs away
Where are the bed bugs
They know the smell of CO2 and find their way
On the next street over, a sign is read “Men Working”
It’s important to specify whether it is a man that is working or a woman
Pedestrians do care
People walk around the sign
The pigeons shift their waddling to accomodate too
The smaller ones fly away
An old man on a wheelchair is pushed towards my direction
His eyes caught mine and he looked away
I greet him when he looked back and he replies but is pushed away
The one doing the pushing is also hissing
I walk away
—
I recently moved to New York to begin a one year fellowship in the New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene. During my commute to and from work, I noticed that New York City is like sticking equal ends of a magnet together; it just doesn’t work. People and things like to have their space. I love New York City because people are simply unassuming. Strangers are cynical if I ever greeted them. I also enjoy the occasional chuckle from the most bazaar people, places, things. Sometimes I wish things could be a bit more intimate, but for the most part, I hide under my shades.
