Here on our Patterson hill
see the lights of downtown
pulsing,
the men with knives and guns
the sporadic sirens
all demanding,
the streetlight orange rowhomes
the white marble stoops
all conspiring.
The hound dog neighbor (Hannah)
wailing,
she’s heard all about me,
these city streets,
their brick cobblestone cement,
whipersing,
the gossip never ends.
[ps: found this little poem in an old journal, circa 2006 or so]
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