Corner of 6th and Park, I'm waiting to cross among the horde of us well-bred (we hope) and well-dressed (we really hope). The usual split-second light is still running green, letting cars overrun pedestrians: machine versus man on a city boxing pathway. Waiting on this corner always feels like forever, and we all have places to go that don't involve you. Time likes to play long jokes, so I give in and fix my skirt the wind tried to buy from me. Hair too. Hell, I open the pale blue magic of a brand to pull out my lipgloss as well. Open, twist, apply and purse lips. I'm always standing on some corner, idly fidgeting, trying to find myself. Whatever streets I run across, traveling to big box-lego blocks, I'll find some temporary piece of mind, like all of us, when the light fades red and the white man flashes me by.
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I watch the corner from the deli, the beautiful, the smart. People waiting impatiently for life to fly by them.
As if this moment didn't matter.
The lady with the big sky bag is diggin for something to solve her problems, but she's not going to find it in a purse. No, answers don't come in a shiny red tube, nor do they have time to visit when we're running bye-bye. Here at crosswalk heavens, moments surpass time.
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