Classic Poem

If you haven't the push-cart mind,
can't nose your way
in amongst, out ahead of
your competitors,
buffeting them aside,
dumping them over, if need be,
driving up to the curb,
first and foremost and loudest,
hawking your wares
ten times louder than they
and selling them ten times cheaper—
a cent against a dime,
a dime against a dollar—
and can't escape
the hundred-eyed, hundred-eared
minion of the law
who's with you if you win,
but God help you if you lose:
New York
will hardly be the place
with a pocket-book like yours
for you to buy a coffin
to be buried in.