Walking to Nest in the morning –

a crowded train station, a hundred people

move to the exit.

We pass the sleeping homeless, and sleeplessly trudge on.

Walking to Nest is

evading the puddles and the angry people –

the thousand clowns that report to work day after day.

In the morning, you dodge the papers:

the AM New York in your face is a bee that doesn’t leave.

Men walk by with metal machines that are bent on our suffering.

You turn a corner and the light that shines from the sun is unbearable.

But the blinding light illuminates the sidewalks, and improves the feel of the streets,

which are suddenly so clean and happy, with gum stains and beggars.

Even so, the sun, always wished for at night, is will be blocked out and ignored.

You walk on.

Many languages around you are yelled from gruesome doorways.

As we turn again, the monster of a street cleaning truck lets nothing rest.

The busy streets and the withered persons with shopping carts and bags of cans

must rummage through junk for another day.

But you come into Nest,

and you’ll see the scaffolding, the ugly surroundings.

And yet, the small grizzled children come in and greet their friends.

And the junkyard of a place starts another day, the same as the last.

And behind the careening buildings, in the winds of early autumn,

the endless cycle starts again.

-James Wallace-Lee