after “Grand Narrative with Chandelier” by Matthea Harvey

He woke up to find his hats
were suspended in midair, hovering

in color order, full-price
above Fifth Avenue. It meant

he couldn’t count on us anymore.
It meant our little cameras could revolt,

flip front-ways & catch him red-faced
and askew. He looked down

and his shirt was outside-in.
His white shoes weren’t there.

We were shining them with black
polish and a brush made of rat hair.

We cheered when the superhero
tore his cape in the subway grate,

the cargo ships started to row backward
when we could distinguish his card cut-out

from the crowd & when the bus crashed
through the median he gasped with us,

smirks and sunglasses, thumbs on buttons,
raining down through hat-clouds & smog.

Anna Sugrue is a senior at Barnard College majoring in urban studies and sociology. She loves to write about cities.