Brooklyn Nights

by Christopher Bacas

On Flatbush Avenue,
the dollar vans squawk and beep,
threading through traffic. Image

City buses stream
rectangles of blue-white light
across the storefronts.

From dim upper floors,
blinds drawn, shadowed, comes music:
brass band with coro.

Tuba burps madly:
a bullfrog virtuoso
looking for lovers.

Beneath an awning,
they sit by a glowing grill,
rain sizzling its lid.

A thick woman prods
the charred corn, whole or sectioned,
smoke twists around her.

In the entrance way,
on a cart, plates, condiments:
mayonnaise and cheese.

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