The raw, coiled
red glare
of the hot plate--
the urine stain
of a sink
and the waft
of Red Sauce
from Davio's below--
The head
a short, anxious scamper
down the hall,
the hacking cough
of the retired civil servant
through a thin wall.
And the spinster
who peers from
the crack in her door
gathers her pennies
and courage
for her big trip
to the corner store,
And the decrepit
wooden ladder that
ascended to a tar roof
the sweet /sorrow scent of city, rain and sea...
and my youth...