Graffitied, empty shadows cross the street
holding no one’s hand in the dead daylight
Tough little boys bullied into men
on brickroad neighborhoods
built for the needy

Abstract Gala supermarkets
Opening their doors for those with
thick rimmed glasses and high waisted jeans
but closing for the needy

Black spray painted letters on gray garage doors
expressing angst and boredom in a self-made city
Inked grotesques and broken glass lemonades
scattered gently along the road we call home

Watered down tomato soup dinners
that feed six but meant for  two and we’re
crouched along swaying bridges
when lights of the stadium
blind across the street

Brooklyn anticipation,
dreams of howling wolves and pines swaying
Brooklyn anticipation,
Brooklyn solitude