Like Clockwork to the End

East Village: chilly early morning vision:
huddled bundled figure on the sidewalk,
mittened fingers on the handle
of a shopping cart, meticulously pushing it –

small squat woman in a black hat, shawl
and coat – wagon packed with plastic
garbage bags: black, stacked and bursting:
thrusts it forward slowly thirty feet.

Turns and pads back on the curb along
the street to get the second cart, to push it
towards its kin; returns to get the third –
to join it to its brethren. And then –

she pushes first the first, and next
the second, and the third another thirty feet
again. And does it all again. And does it
all again. Like clockwork to the end.



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