She was wearing a short frilly dress,
holding a pink magic wand, and
sported gossamer wings flecked with
glittering faith and selfless delight.

He apologized for accidentally
banging into her. She replied no
apology needed, give a dollar to the
homeless guy with the shabby black pants,
beat-up sneakers and torn tattooed allegories
on his arms sitting at the bottom of the

uptown staircase in the Fourteenth Street
Station with a cardboard sign saying
“I am drowning in a sea of grief” around
his neck. The broker took out his wallet which
contained only tens and twenties meant for
wine, women and Caramel Brulée Frappuccinos,

flashed a fuck you smile at the charitable apparition,
popped a Xanax and focused on the
presentation he would be giving later in
the day to the piggies at the bank on the
near term outlook for pork belly options.

Martin H. Levinson is a member of the Authors Guild and the National Book Critics Circle, and serves as book review editor for ETC: A Review of General Semantics. He has published nine books and numerous articles and poems in various publications. He holds a PhD from NYU and lives in Forest Hills, New York.