There’s them and there’s me. I’m looking
Through my clothes to find a clean shirt.
When I got on the Staten Island Ferry,
I didn’t expect it to lurch. Not hurt
But once in a while the wind whips
My cap into the black bay.
I wear my briefcase on my head.
But you were eating in the cafe
Of eternal day. I came close
To see the sweets, you and your friend
Were drawing some kind of sketch, I stretched
To see a revised West End.
Yaacov David Shulman