Out in the streets




Incident on Mercer Street


A Peruvian man (black suit in a plastic bag)

Stops two gay guys

Outside Einstein’s house and

Asks “where is Rocky?”

They look comically puzzled

Then quickly annoyed

They’re on their way to

The Battlefield

To take patriotic selfies

They’ve no time for this man and

His broken American so

Shaking their heads curtly

They develop a scurry

And leave the poor fellow to

His hapless confusion

What the heck, I walk over

And he gratefully shows me

A text on his iPhone® 7

It reads Rocky at eleven

“You want Rockefeller College,”

I tell him (too loudly).

“Si?” he replies with somewhat less than complete


“Come with me, I’m passing there.”

And along we go up Mercer Street

I ravel out he’s a waiter come

To work some fancy function


“Don’t sweat, I’ll get you there.”

But then every ten feet he asks

“How many blocks?”

And punctuates each such query

With a tubercular cough

So, I drop a few feet behind

Busy myself taking pictures of flowers

And when we get near Nassau Street

I point to the tower

“Rocky,” I say

And he asks, “where the kitchens?”

That I don’t know so I leave him to it and

Go my own way idly thinking

“Hope he gives some of those Princeton fat cats

A dose of that dubious cough”

I don’t think that makes me a bad person

After all, didn’t I just help some stranger

Get to his minimum wage job?





Words and images are my own.






4 thoughts on “Out in the streets

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