Andreas Weiland
IN NEW YORK CITY
rumbling through
streets covered by potholes
the surface of the asphalt
cracked open, by winter
or an unrecorded earthquake
we had looked at the dirt on the
cab's floor, noticed
the squeaking noises the car made
while the driver, a young Black American
told us everything we wanted to know
about how they don't get paid hourly wages
but lease a cab
from someone with a license
hoping to earn enough
to buy a license, some day
Picking up business
you have to pay
for the lease
for gas, minor repairs
hoping enough is left
to make a living
He was keen to move on
as we made our way
through Lower Manhattan
waiting at stop lights
to let pedestrian traffic pass
That morning, we had walked down
a sidestreet
leading towards the Hudson
coming past the old Morning Star building
the green, wooden window frames
the red bricks
glowing warmly
in the sun
Looking at the row of
brownstone houses
in the shadow
the warehouse, down there
near the waterfront
I had almost stumbled across
the old man, sitting, exhausted
on stairs
leading up to
a front door
That night, he told me, he had slept
in a garage, a man of seventy, veteran
of the war
of forty-one
who had no place to go to, now
his legs and arms
showing the trace of burns
he had suffered
in a car accident
Sitting next to him, on the stones of the staircase
I placed my arm around him
while he talked on, showing me
his scarred leg
making me forget
all I had read
about tuberculosis
among the down & out
in New York
(1998; 2007)
(From: Midwestern Vistas and Other Poems)
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