DOORMAN
175 West 12th Street’s
lobby always smelled
as if it had just been mopped
The fabric of my uniform
was coarse grey wool
with faded ornamental
white piping on the collar
and near my wrists.
The gloves slid nicely under my cuffs
when I pushed the door open
as they came and went;
some of them
huddled under the canopy
until I corralled their cab.
People generally thanked
me with a dollar,
without seeing my face.