Goodness in the Gilded Age

A stock broker bumped into the

good-deed fairy on the E-train.

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.

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