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Leap Year, 1996
Lower East Side.
Stanton Street.
From Amelia's railroad walk-up
watch
little Ralphie shake the hands
of no-good buddies.
Loud
is his trash-talk two floors beneath
her crossed fingers.
On fire escape metal
Amelia wishes not the pink wants of sixteen
but rather that
her brother may
live
to grow out
black tarred, no-green streets and grow past
blunt-banged girls
pushing babies across Houston.
At sunfall see nothing. Count
squatters on rooftops.
At midnight, hear nothing. Expect
snide laughter of street-fiends.
Climb metal every morning
to her red-escape-retreat.
Adore
and then resent the twins downtown—
two tall, blonde, sun-polished
bricks of gold
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