FLATBUSH AVENUE

 

 

 

 

 

The flash of late night neon’s

offered hope and rescue

to sidewalk followers

searching

out the end of day

watching the eyes of those

passing.

 

Flatbush Avenue ran the

beat of alive

never sleeping, holding tight the

sounds of city language.

 

Traffic lights measure time,

guarding the roads

offering passage with prejudice.

 

Stranger’s stand by doors

with caution,

whispering, holding shadows close,

watching for the next set of eyes.

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