Simulate a cold November evening in New York City

imagine rolling clouds of icy fog

chilling exposed skin

and long legs dressed in nylon stockings

listen to ship’s horns in the harbor

they’re echoing off of art deco fenestrations

feel the buffeting from soft vibrations

of deep-running subway cars

and the honking of taxi cabs

except its not the subway

or a taxi horn

but the rusty innards of a refrigeration unit

struggling to keep cool the sixty foot length

of a Wal-Mart delivery truck

idling in Spring sunshine.

Your plastic-wrapped body glimmers in the sun

as you’re wheeled out on a gurney

and placed gingerly

on black rubber mats.

The workers cough into their elbow crooks

as the latch slams shut

and the lock clicks

you think you are still alive

but its the flickering fluorescent light

that makes your shadow seem to dance.