Handling

II.

The man in front of City Hall is or-
dinary. His clothes are black, but dirty
still, like a mottled camoflage dress suit.
     You got a dollar?

He asks.
     A fellow has got to eat.

The pushcarts brimming with pan-Asian food
glint off his eyes, receding back into
one grey hair at a time, into shadow.

     Hey, baby.

He says, a young woman walking by.

     A man gets awfully lonely.

The man in front of City Hall is or-
dinary. But he is not hidden. And

so she asks you:
            What color is this man?

III.

Silver women continued to walk by.
Folded men in their pockets did not turn.
She looked at you, resolute, as if to
Say: The man in front of City Hall is
Ordinary.