Manhattan

While wide-eyed tourists gaze upward at fancy billboards,
tall skyscrapers and possibly God,
I watch them.
Notice their baggy t-shirts and boot-cut jeans
Looking Midwest casual amid alternating groups of
high-end chic, downtown funky and possibly homeless
I am them.
But I tell myself I'm somehow above them
Sporting a short, black winter coat, a native gait through
the crowd and eyes on no one
I fool them all, myself included.
Why do I loathe those who would only treat me more
decently than those I emulate?
I fear it is the weakness that most threatens to destroy
my soul, the world and possibly Manhattan.