in 1960 I bought
a 1955 chevy impala
2 door hard top
skirts and lacquered paint job
cool as shit
and every saturday
me and my newly wed woman
jumped in it for a cruise
and where did we drive
to another part of brooklyn
of course
we came from brownsville
before we got married
now we lived in
east flatbush
a better neighborhood
more or less
but better
anyhow
and where do we drive
well to a better
neighborhood
to look and see
and be seen
in our chevy coolness
down kings highway
where the really
good neighborhoods are
where the apt houses
get larger
the deeper in you glide
and sharper
now with elevators
and now with balconies
where you could stand
digging the whole
god damn scene
if you wanted
and we kept cruising
until it
finally ended
with doubled wing
huge apt houses
with white brick fronts
with two elevators
in the tile lobby
with a couch
your friends could
sit on
waiting for
you to come down
with uniformed doormen
out front
under a long purple canopy
on a leafy
brooklyn street
dappled by brooklyn sunshine
then came red brick private homes
stacked side by side
their driveways
side by side
with brand new cars
in them
sparkling with their shiny
clean paint
just being there
not afraid of being robbed
the windows were left open
we stared at this
wonder of wonders
as we traveled through
the interior
of our dull minds
and as it became late
we began our joyous return
on the exact same streets
with stop lights
with stop signs
with heavy traffic building
with rock radio blasting
we arrived home
to our 3 room apt
in east Flatbush
a few avenues away
from bad Brownsville
were we both were from
she made dinner
hot dogs
and potato salad
and dr browns cream soda
and the days
moved on like that
soon we had a kid
we took him on our trips
but it just wasn't
the same
it became
too hard
no fun
we brought diapers
food
water
and bottles
for his milk
and crazy toys
no talking too loud
no radio on
he was sleeping
or peeing
or crying
or vomiting
or screaming
whatever
so we stopped going
soon the car got old
she got tired
and the food at home
got worse
the nights got longer
she got tired
and I started
to take long rides
by myself
the neighborhoods
got bad
then worse
and the bars
became darker
lonely holes
and dangerous
and the Spanish girls
in the shadows
with their
black eyes flashing
their mouths snarling
and laughing
pointing at me
hey man
dis aint no west side story in here
we aint Maria you know
and yo mister
what's a jive ass
Jewish boy
looking like you
doing here
and there was really
no way I could tell them what
I was doing there
I was just waiting
to see what
would come down
as I drank my scotch
at the bar and ate
french fried potatoes
covered with ketchup
drenched in salt
for my dinner
