I shoved a green barrow
Against the wind,
Up and down
Manhattan town
And my wobbling wheels
Drew many a frown,
So I grinned to keep
From growing mean.

There were too many days
In the back of my head
To ignore the moment
So quickly dead.
I gathered them into
My marrow and spell
For the leap of a time
When I might tell.

There were iron gates
That clanged on cells
And doors to thump
For the want of bells
And cops who kept
To a regular beat
And reached in their pocket
Whenever they'd eat;
And long parades
To hobble my way,
But I never worked
On Saint Patrick's Day.

The Embassy of India
Was always very grand
And gave me sweeter smiles
And offered warmer hands
Than did the Delegations
From so many other lands;
And in my soul
The Chef still sings,
He fried me things
Like onion rings
And some that might
Have once had wings.
I never knew,

It's just I wondered
About a few.

There was a school
For ladies, I think,
For me it was laughter
And always a drink.
The kitchen was full
Of Jamaican girls
With snow white teeth
And heads of curls
And their chocolate grins
Were occasions of sins
I might have committed
If under my skin
I was the person
I might have been.

Who ever heard
Of tea with ice!
But it was nice!
Oh!  It was nice!

I was a thorough
Greenhorn then,
Marrowing all
To the moment when
I could be alone
With a magic pen.

There were delicate ladies
Who'd lost their smells
And lived in the stomachs
Of heavy hotels,
With photos and laces
And crinkled faces
And walked like my barrow
Across the floor
To give me the eye
Through a bolted door.

Once inside,
They were glad I came
And under the camphor
None was the same.
Each had a memoried nerve

Of her own,
Sheathed in the wrinkled skin
She'd grown
And sometimes I thought
I caught again
The glint that startled
Some long dead men.

I brought them their bread
And their milk
And their cheese
And a smile and a lilt
That seemed to please
Others groping beyond themselves
For the pleasures of treasures
On deeper shelves.

It wasn't an easy job,
I had,
And it wasn't the worst!
But the wheels were bad.

Now I look
On a long gone year
With an eye grown soft
To a gathering tear.

I carried their needs
As many boys would,
But I took away
All that I could,
Filling my barrow
Against the day
When turf brown hair
Would ripen to grey.

Something told me
Deep within,
I could delight
In a chocolate grin
And the memory of
The occasion of sin.