I see you in all kinds of weather! J’adore your rough beauty! The homeless kids in the Canal District reading their novels … poets in their poverty, their rootlessness. “They’ve all come to look for America!”
Brown, black, white city kids … angry innocence! Public school geniuses and pugilists. Up against it all: their worn down sneakers and sweat pants in December say it to me!
Where is the promise kept?!
Turn to hoi-polloi-power! All of us here, right now, asking WHO WE ARE, WHO WE LOVE…
Outside my Ward Street window I hear cries of pain, almost every night, on the street! My city street!
The shattered hearts! The girlfriend dumped even after the round belly and baby born. And the cute boy now 2, standing tentatively on the front porch or peeking out the second floor window, the one without shades or blinds. His Lady Mama still cheated on, abandoned!
Anchor babies a bust here! But in the Canal District, right across the Square … the same shit goes on, only slathered in PR jargon…the middle class lady oughta have known better! A pregnant (fake?) pause?
Consider the creeps who fuck and run! On Ward Street! In the chi chi Canal District! There’s the gold nugget: We are the same! The trips to Greece, the artisan bread …it doesn’t split there from HERE! This side of Kelley Square from that side!
What pierces them?
Ok! Enough! I will get off my duff …
(Slaying the ladies for all eternity…wishing Frank Sinatra a Happy Birthday!)