by Brian Matthew Kessler

Sitting out on Avenue A,

Just passing through the day.

Trying to make ends meet,

Panning for food to eat.

Sorrow and misery everywhere,

But so too finding happiness here.

Life would be going well,

Except for cops making it hell.

In the park I rest my head,

Woken up, told "The bench ain't a bed."

Going back to my stoop,

I wait for the line to give out soup.

The food isn't very great,

But afterwards, least I can say "I ate."

My friends hanging out in the park,

Also found up on St. Mark's.

Wondering what to do,

I ask "What's new?"

"Nothing," so they say,

But still I enjoy the day.

Later I beg for dinner,

The light is getting thinner.

A slice of pizza for my meal,

but at a dollar a slice a good deal.

Along comes the night crowd,

Good money in not being too proud.

Many snobs and pricks,

Some deserving kicks.

More important are the good ones,

Those who make the evenings fun.

About two hours after midnight,

Almost soulless becomes the sight,

No one left but squatters and bums on the street,

Go round the corner, crackheads selling stuff really neat.

Up comes the sun,

A new days begun.

Surrounded by my friends,

I'll make it to the end.