Music bleeds out of the 12th story window
The sidewalk is freckled
with old chewing gum
and stacks of cigarette butts
The urban equivalent of leaves on a forest floor

This side walk has been seen by many travelers
thousands have walked its
concrete skin
Buried underneath subway trains travel
like bullets
carrying the cramped masses of morning commuters

There's a man in a suit
Sunglasses shield the world from his eyes
Cellphone in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other
Walking briskly in his Italian leather shoes
Not noticing the man in the burgundy hat reaching
deep within the trash can

Chirping birds have been replaced with the honking
of car horns and air brakes of city buses
Towering trees have been replaced with towering
condos, offices, and monuments of capitalism

We're told when to cross the street and
the rivers have been told where to drain
The birds have been told where to nest
We're told where we belong
Within its neighborhoods