It's my lunch hour, so I go <br />for a walk among the hum-colored <br />cabs. First, down the sidewalk <br />where laborers feed their dirty <br />glistening torsos sandwiches <br />and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets <br />on. They protect them from falling <br />bricks, I guess. Then onto the <br />avenue where skirts are flipping <br />above heels and blow up over <br />grates. The sun is hot, but the <br />cabs stir up the air. I look <br />at bargains in wristwatches. There <br />are cats playing in sawdust. <br /> <br />On <br />to Times Square, where the sign <br />blows smoke over my head, and higher <br />the waterfall pours lightly. A <br />Negro stands in a doorway with a <br />toothpick, languorously agitating <br />A blonde chorus girl clicks: he <br />smiles and rubs his chin. Everything <br />suddenly honks: it is 12:40 of <br />a Thursday. <br /> <br />Neon in daylight is a <br />great pleasure, as Edwin Denby would <br />write, as are light bulbs in daylight. <br />I stop for a cheeseburger at JULIET'S <br />CORNER. Giulietta Maina, wife of <br />Federico Fellini, é bell' attrice. <br />And chocolate malted. A lady in <br />foxes on such a day puts her poodle <br />in a cab. <br /> <br />There are several Puerto <br />Ricans on the avenue today, which <br />makes it beautiful and warm. First <br />Bunny died, then John Latouche, <br />then Jackson Pollock. But is the <br />earth as full of life was full, of them? <br />And one has eaten and one walks, <br />past the magazines with nudes <br />and the posters for BULLFIGHT and <br />the Manhatten Storage Warehouse, <br />which they'll soon tear down. I <br />used to think they had the Armory <br />Show there. <br /> <br />A glass of papaya juice <br />and back to work. My heart is in my <br />pocket, it is Poems by Pierre Reverdy.<br /><br />Frank O'Hara<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-step-away-from-them/
