Casual Friday

That's how the whole flip-flop fiasco started.
It was the day those blind people kept bumping into me.
The subway paupers, instead of screaming about their naked feet,
Sidled up close, nudged me with an elbow, and either
Said nothing, or asked for a dollar very quietly.

Then the limpers came out of the woodwork.
Every kind of limp you can imagine: the stiff-leg drag,
The polio stride, and that bow-legged broken-knee hobble.
My god, I thought, I should open up a cane shop.
Make a killing off this cripple demographic. I took
Another look around. When did it become OK

To wear surgical masks in public? How is anyone
Supposed to ID these gypsies, once they are found
Fishing through your briefcase for stock certificates?
Dropped, a leper's crutch hit the concrete very loudly.
She turned as she picked it up, and gave me the evil eye.

I'm guessing she sensed that I knew the score, how all
The alms trickle up through the orders of the Catholic church.
Sure. Disabled, sex-trafficked mothers -– my ass.
These undercover hookers are henchmen to the Pope,
And I'd sooner be circumcised than drop coins in his hat.

Just then a raincoat leap-frogged down the platform by my feet.
Legless. Poor monster, I thought, can he even have sex?
I instinctively crossed myself, adjusted my underwear.
Might even have smiled if he hadn't hopped away.

The seizing man I stepped over as I boarded the train
Was being repeatedly sandwiched by the automatic doors.
Come on, I thought, is that really adult behavior?
And who did he think that signage was fooling?
They don't let epileptics into the army. Must be a Thursday,
I muttered into my paper, and tightened the sash
On my faded black trenchcoat. I was feeling well

Insulated against all the schizophrenic nightmares
Of the garbage bag santas and shopping cart nomads,
Like I might make it to work without unhanding my dollars.

If it wasn't for that fucking Mexican accordion player.
Mourning the ashes of his village with that three note ditty,
His leathery frown sagging into his chest, his instrument
Sounded the collective drone of every mental retardation.

I admit I lost control. When I saw that he had lowered
The price of his CDs by another dollar that day,
My armor chinked. If I could feel still. Instead,
I rummaged through my pockets for a crumpled up bill.

A man's heartlessness can only go so far. Embarrassed
By my own charity, I turned to my neighbor and justified,
"Because aren't we all just the Pope's handicapped pilgrims,
God's invalid criminals, pretending not to see each other?"
His face was covered in burns and he had one blind eye
And he just sneezed into my mouth as I was talking.

Appalled, I scanned the car for a witness to this
Incident. Everyone blew their noses at the same time.