the drain on 42nd street has
rats in the tunnel
rats on the tracks
roaches on the rail
for all the nations let them have

a beautiful life
underneath the sun
like a vagabond
who has no where else to go

I am empty now
below the street
people gather
some push
some saunter
some push there belongings before them
some stare

at humanity
with a smile
with a sad smile
with anger
with rage

some people help
other people

more than once I witnessed a person who
dropped a glove or a hat or a phone or umbrella

and someone said, mister is that yours, or ma'am your glove

we on 42nd stand aloof
regarded as nobody's
and regarded as kings and queens
as natives
as the original dreamers

the first drainers
upon the earth