Where Are You from?

Where Are You from?

I’m from a concrete forest, inhabited by street-smart hoodlums,

Dumb as dirt pseudo-intellectuals and people like us.

I’m from museums, libraries, theaters, parks and zoos,

Night clubs, jazz joints and neon noise.

I’m from trolley rides to Coney Island

A Nathan’s hot dog slathered with mustard on a toasted bun

Throngs who came to escape the city heat and humidity

And spread their blankets so close together that you

Could walk from boardwalk to ocean without stepping on sand.

I’m from Saturday afternoons at the Prospect movie house where

A white clad matron and red uniformed usher patrolled the aisles

And kept order in the theater filled with fidgety, boisterous children

Who munched candy and popcorn and booed or cheered the action on the screen

I’m from steel-toed work boots that glide along a beam sixty stories high,

Before the age of hard hats and safety belts.

I’m from Red Cross™ shoes and a cotton house dress

Stretched across soft bosom and belly.

I’m from a flighty boy-crazy sister and

Serious brother, lover of classical music.

I’m from a plethora of aunts, uncles and cousins

With whom we played an endless game of poker,

Sang, laughed, teased, argued and made up, or not.

A kaliescope by the delicious dysfunction of family.