across you. Hear the train mark its stop from half a block
away and this is a beginner's window--to shop the street
and shout from--"lick me like you like it," or
for the last time "you'll cook this chicken and sing!"
They're rebuilding their doors and plumbing
a flight up. They're rebuking our rights to punch
pigeons that ring out through the walls
and plaster. The pigeons are never grateful.
Another man is bathing in his aches while he
waits for a woman to enter the building.
With all of us here, it's personal. Even
the conversation from the trashbin
and the cars asleep on their curbs.
One woman a block from here likes her feet
tickled. She walks with her hands
upturned and her children are learning
to crawl and curse in unison.