There are plants that bloom between
the tracks on the 7 line at Queensboro Plaza.
Would-be trees planted by misguided birds
who are trying to make a home for themselves
in a place where birds can't live.
Underground, on the walls below Prince Street,
miniature people pass each other unknowingly.
Their maker forgot to paint their eyes.
One of them drags a Christmas pine,
lugging home joviality to string lights upon and
"So this is happiness in New York City."