Manhattan

This swirl has sidewalks,
flattened gum, and stink puddles.
I'll be back when the crowd
makes a slow machine hum
to the tune of spastic insults
and dumpy trains.
Clears throat, sees light
come shining, does a jig,
and rolls away.
I don't have time
to pass the time.
Here, have some
chunks of it, glittering
and unstoppable, the momentum
gathering like a yellow sports car
that costs more than I'll make
in a decade of retail work.
Up I go into oblivion.