On Sixty-Second Street
Sat two men, Scott and Seth
The men worked for the same company but led lives as different
As two sides of a coin
coexisting but never with the same side up.
As Scott rushed into the crowded subway he stopped to lend a hand to the
wrinkled old lady with a million knots in her forehead.
Seth ran two traffic lights while almost hitting a little girl on the street
by fractions of an hair
and the road was so fuzzy a blur to Seth
he might as well have worn glasses with the wrong prescription
partially because of his ignorance,
and partially because he just didn’t care.
Scott reached home with a smile brighter than lightening
While Seth shrieked at his wife while dark clouds loomed over him
and he slapped his disobedient
Son who had misplaced the TV remote
Scott told jokes while starting campaigns for charities
that grew as fast and successful as cheetahs down a track.
Seth worked on his latest secret plan to defraud the company,
and he drank champagne until the world was weary and worthless
and he drank until life had no more meaning than just a few lost pennies on the street
and he drank until he had nothing left to be.

Finally, it was bring-your-kid to work day.
Scott proudly held his seven-year- old son’s hand down sixty second street,
while Seth sauntered several paces ahead of his seven year old son,
caring more about his brand new watch getting wet than his son getting lost.

Somewhere along sixty second street
A lady stops a seven year old boy asking what his father’s name is
To which he replies
Scott Seth Scott Seth Scott Seth
My father is Scott, but sometimes he goes by Seth
Scott and Seth were one man
One man
on Sixty Second Street.