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New Year’s 2015 

At 85 I saw my youngest grandchild at seven

In her Princess Leia dress, barefoot, outside.

The Christmas tree

Pushed through the window,

Star Wars again,

A space journey for her and my sixteen others.

At 2:54 on the Hudson Line the river

Glistening, not yet frozen, returned me

With the excitement of memory

To GRAND CENTRAL STATION, "Crossroads of a thousand lives,"

Didn't the radio of the early 1940s announce?

One more look at the electric trains,

But the door shut on New Year's Day.

At the bottom of the escalator,

Crowds at the few eateries open.

One tall man in a white shirt reaches into a barrel,

Fingers from the corner of a cardboard a mouthful.

At the next barrel, a dark man in dark clothes

Stores a plastic box for later.

Closer to my fourth floor apartment

In the locked entrance to the Chase Bank,

On Broadway,

On the floor,

A man, safe and warm, sleeps.

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