we’re as fragile as slight tree limbs
laden with ice on a fierce winter day
we lay up by the escalator in Penn Station
eating our curds & whey / our tuna in cans
our clothes in a shopping cart from
somewhere / the big apple store / not
Balducci’s or the Jefferson Market
we wear three & four dresses at a time
walk barefoot down 8th avenue
we have sometimes a peculiar odor
but no worse from the women’s room
at Penn Station / people carry
suitcases & travel bags / take trains
go places / they’re sturdy & mindful
this spot / our rags protect us
see i designed this myself / no one
anywhere looks quite like this
is my beauty.