Sunday in alphabet city
Spanish girls
in communion dresses
are playing hopscotch
on third street
where junkies are crabs
slipping sideways
through currents
of undercover officers
trying to blend in
with the downtown hipsters.
Their politeness
is always too loud.
From a third floor
tenement window
a weary Carmen Miranda
smiles down on the scene
waiting for her sweet
Raphito with the alligator
shoes and Panama hat
to bring her Sunday treats.
Across the street
on a pay phone
Pipo decked out
in army fatigues
is a capitalist
with a .357
and a beeper
cutting a deal
when the bulls
swoop down on him
scattering hipsters
and hopscotchers everywhere.
Ralphie, turning the corner
surveys the commotion
and keeps walking
down avenue B.
In front of the Gomez bodega
he drops a quarter
in the phone to tell
Pipo's lawyer the news.
GMHC
smoke seeped under
the door of 8A
in the faggot hotel
on christopher st.
no smoke detector
alerted, fire safety
director, directed
it was 3am and
a real gay man's
health crisis
when 8A occupancy
vacated the window
grabbing the downspout
which pulled loose
dropping him
onto the street.
a neat little
black woman
visited his coma
bedside daily
childhood friend
from Jamaica
said his family
was in alaska
disowned him
when he came
out of the closet
had a daughter
somewhere downsouth
wanted her
to have
everything.
sabado al mediodia
me no habla
watching channel
41 saturday
shy puerto
rican chicks
zaftig stuffed
into tiny
bikinis pushing
diet drink
to would be
carmen miranda
unwed mothers
hair in curlers
killing time
until satur
day night.
street scene Carmen
down on the corner where huas and pitchmen are
congregated in front of the check cashing
place, a white lincoln pimpmobile, rolling
probable cause, pulls up, fires two shots to
Julio who catches them where he ain't got
hands.
panicked crowd scatters screaming, leaving the
boy for crime scene chalk mark outline, head
resting in a congealing pool of 103rd street
salsa.
a 13 year old bulldagger Carmen Miranda
pimproll saunters over to the sweet sad-eyed
boy, ever so gently lifts his watch, gold
chain, pocket change to a crescendo
of squad cars and ambulances.
This is the 90's
The skell on the corner
of Chambers and Church
is passing out flyers
for the Baby Doll Lounge
"TOPLESS DANCERS
25 CENT PEEP SHOW"
I shove my hands
into my pockets
and push past his advances.
Offended by the snub
he barks after me
"Hey, man! It's okay!
This is the 90's."
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