ON A NINETY-DEGREE DAY

In old, world, dirty
New York City,
Some of the unlucky
At best sprawl
Next to poles or
Against walls,
Some of the lucky
Push carts
Or drag carts,
And the luckier
Pause
And look at least
One way before
Crossing the street,
Not needing a voice
That gives directions,
Nor heeding a noise
That says do this