Watch out while walking on the cobblestones. While out walking on the cobblestones, someone tripped (died) in this space between Broad and Wall Streets, near Bridge and Gold, a skip away from Old Slip, Stop— Only Pedestrians May Enter. Other people, believable, sit at cafe tables, enjoying things, themselves, drinking coffee, reading screens, writing their novels or whatever. Exchange Place. A tour guide says be careful of the construct, construction, debris, dust, scaffolding, daffodils in pots, bollards to block the terrorists here, where someone almost blew up the Stock Exchange once (1920). Everyone stops to touch the golden bull. How much? Pretzels. Pizza. You have to eat standing up. No Standing. No Parking. Exceptions for some Chute Specialists, Emergency Air, Empire Sewer. The river sparkles only because the sky- scrapers are there, reflected. Look at that pyramid at the top of something, plus an obelisk. The End is Near, someone yells out while shuffling, suffering, scattering bones (chicken) on the street. Bagels. Seagulls. A hawk circles, circles and repeats. A hawk beheads a pigeon, leaves it on a windowsill. What to do with a body? Trash chute, says the doorman— revolving door— man exits. The hour of acceptance: deliveries despite scaffolding unfolding. Loading . . . Wait a minute. An artist or someone has come to paint a picture on the corner of Pine Street and Pearl, so named by the Dutch for all the scattered shells of oysters. Glisten.
Tara Deal is a New York writer of free verse, fiction, and urban fragments. She is the author of three award-winning novellas, Life/Insurance (forthcoming from Regal House in 2024), That Night Alive (Miami University Press), and Palms Are Not Trees After All (Texas Review Press).
