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