And in a puddle up near Oak Point
I found a Chinese robot toy
coiled in moldy Mickey D foil
Its little arm broken off and stuffed with rat shit
Right next to this fallen mecha
sat a crinkled can of Diet Coke
It shines like my favorite bank machine keypads singing those sonorous boop boop boops
The keys my mother clanked
The keys my mother clanked at the bank
The Apple Bank on 86th that I remember first,
Origin point for my memory and all that I am –
In my stroller, wheeled by my Grandpa, who I knew not
He held my plastic K-Mart stroller and called me Meatball
amongst the maddening crowd porting checks, the usuals:
Our Egyptian mailman, our Caribbean crossing guard,
The mothers and fathers and uncles and aunts and sons and daughters
that will step outside and buy
Produce sweatpants fish tees
And little Chinese robot toys

This is my tide pool, this is my primordial soup
Or perhaps Bruckner’s diesel fumes
Are just muddling my brain