Excerpt from The Dogs of Brooklyn:
photo of Fred by Dennis Riley
Prospect Heights Pop
Walking home from the Q train, dogs and coffee
shops split street strut, brownstone buildings
and big trees bud, shooting up from the sidewalk,
dreadlocked drug dealers stalk, hanging on changing
corners---the neighborhood watch while Maclaren
Mafia mommies’ doublewide strollers scream on by.
Sidewalk block, I weave and wave through the window
at big, soft Audrey working in the new chi-chi bakery.
Better than the lemon cookies, she always says hello
and remembers my coffee. Soul tracks for sale outside
the Key Food serenade as macho men swallow me
with their scary smiles. The tough Brooklyn guys
at Acme Pet Shop on Vanderbilt Avenue with their old
orange cat Knuckles chuckle at their Akita pup Lefty
as he jumps up to box me. Head down Prospect past
Harry and three-legged Fred lounging, hogging up
the sidewalk looking for strokes and extra treats
to make up for his hop-walk like a bouncing spring.
Hit Underhill and follow the Jah Love guy with his
giant boombox blasting reggae, doing his slow strange
walking meditation, Jesus Loves You sign strapped
to his back, and I think he must have, to have given
me this neighborhood so suited to the swing dance
bopping in my big band mind. Click the vestibule keys,
check the mail, doors squeal and slam like a drumbeat.
I dance up the dirty, dark stairs to the tiny shoebox
apartment where Itty Pity, hearing me wrestle the locks,
starts howling her blues. My mama been gone, left me
all alone. Said my mama been gone, left me all alone.
She run around with them dogs, to keep the lights on.