HARLEM, BEFORE DAWN, APRIL 1st, 2020

I hear three ambulances at once
Not far from the hospital
Or me

From my windowsill perch
I see a man
My neighbor, a stranger
Exit the building
Across the street
Dignified, middle-aged, Black
With short hair and glasses
A neat salt-and-pepper beard
Wearing slacks and a winter coat

He opens the lid of a trash bin
With some kind of wipe
Throws in a small bag
And the wipe after it

Turns east toward the subway
And the sleeping sun
Pulling on a mask
Crossing himself twice in a row
Sensible, sad, I think

I think
Is he a doctor? I wonder if he’s a doctor
Or a nurse
Or a grocery store manager
Or a bus driver
Or a policeman
Or a county official
Or a delivery person
Blessing the essential workday
Ahead of him

Then I remember the ambulances
Three of them
And wish I prayed to something
More specific than the universe