It’s my job—same as Dad’s, and his dad’s, and his—so I guess I’m lucky. And it’s important. I mean, if people like me weren’t here, who’d look after them? They don’t need much. A touch of heat in the winter, the odd swabbing down with bleach during summer. If these walls could talk, they’d thank me, but they deserve it. Before the plague, people came here to work. The buildings looked after them, kept them safe. They’ve been empty ever since. Man, when those doors open each February, and the people flood in with their ancient files, and pens, and styrofoam cups, you can sense what it must have been like. I often join them at worship, shed a little tear.
winter solstice
a shaft of sunlight spreads
up Wall Street
is the author of Lessons for Tangueros (poetry), Marcel Malone
(novel), and Tick Tock (haibun collection). His haibun have been widely
published and anthologized, and in 2019 he was elected into the New Resonance
community of haiku poets. Originally from Wales, he now lives in Chicago, USA.
