46th and Troy

back in the 1990’s inhabited by Polish

in the 2000’s

filled with

loud hispanic children

I was one of them.

where ice-cream trucks-

turn into drive by trucks

like the one that killed Michael

next door.

Where everyone knew each other

greetings and goodbyes were exchanged with a

“Buenos Dias” or

“See you later alligator”.

Where you either have a

christian knock on your door

or the sound of an empty beer bottle

right at your window.

Where mentally grown children

sit on their phone

rather than play chicken

or tag one tag all.

Where gangsters post outside the bar

familiar faces, but still hesitant.

where you hear Marc Anthony across the street

or biggie next door.

Where the smell is actually really loud through your nostrils

but the smell of fresh cut grass

isn't left behind.

Where secrets are passed on like teens pass the joint

in rotation, waiting for it excitedly like

I used to wait for the paletero man

to pay him with a hundred dark coins.

Where memories fade into the emptiness

of nothing.

This is 46th and Troy.