today I sat

at the busstop

of fifth and broadway

breathing in fumes

from the 11, 34 and crazy 7

waitg on the deuce

with a Mexican woman

behind me

holding the top

of a Styrofoam to-go container

wailing for spare change

I sat there

with my tie and sunglasses

and this last unsubmitted resume

and realized

that I was poor

and no amount of poetry

would ever change that