A Morning in Newark

The sky a sickly white expanse, tops of buildings faded by fog and smoke, cars start and stop spraying grime and melted snow

A sad gray-faced woman stands against the red brick wall of the corner store, leaning on a payphone, her hands hidden in her black jacket, the hood wrapped tightly around her head, with the vast empty unblinking eyes of a ghost

I look out the window and think of other planets