People gather like crows in Strawberry Fields,
squawking language.
Little rubber-soled shoes rumble
against smooth tin.
"Aller! Aller au papa!"
Horse-drawn carriages
of white wrought iron curly-q's
weave through perfect greenery.
Out of the trees and back to the street
artificial stars hang from a roof.
Under the roof,
a Lexus, a BMW, a Mercedes,
and smartly dressed people.
The sky grows darker
and the people get louder.
"Five dollars to help our homeless!"
Night heralds a change in era as
drunken sailors fill the streets.
In eager pictures they smile,
placid and glassy-eyed.
One novelty gift shop,
out of dozens- hundreds.
Racks of kitschy keychains and T-shirts
and gargantuan,
cheaply made,
stone statues-
a lion, an elephant, a mermaid,
a one-ton memento to ship home.
Sbarro's is overrates,
but the experience is classic.
With grease-covered hands and a grunt for an answer,
with wadded-up napkins overflowing trashcans
and littering pavement,
the countdown to day begins
with the time on the meter.