Sprinters all, we’re ready, steady
at the yellow safety line
on the deck of the ferry,
waiting for our starting gun,
the bump against the pier –
Every day I race a midget (yes, a midget)
for the best seat on the bus.
No holds barred, that’s the deal,
as we bob and weave and elbow and bluff
our way up the ramp and three sets of doors –
my long legs indomitable in the stretch,
her tiny size a huge advantage
diving through gaps in the crowd.
This is Manhattan, and until you’ve
walked a New York Mile
in my Ferragamo’s
who are you to judge?