Guilt of the You Name it Variety

Here's something I wrote between not paying attention to everything unfolding around me in this city where even in the suburban streets in Forest Hills the trees are buzzing.

Trials

On the layer of spit and gum

he trembles and I don’t see beyond

the rattatat tatters

On the corner she hunches

on bended cane

between St. Patrick’s Cathedral

and media moguled buildings –

towering tinsel tinker toys

whose hispeed ears and eyes

don’t hearsee her cries

and me

I stare deep, deep

deep peering, penetrating

knife bleed down inside me

somewhere

in the moment between

“Can you help me?”

and crossing the street,

turning away

looking above, beyond,

I fail the Good Samaritan test