refueling on Rhode Island Avenue means gas for engines, and donuts for hearts
the acrid smell of urine hanging in the humid air around the dumpster
mixes with the coffee and cigarettes a few steps away
the steady hum of the traffic drones behind a more lively foreground
the music of seven stereos courses into and out of syncopation
anger and escape, joy and celebration, love and longing
black and white and brown move to a common rhythm
even if only by accident, and for a second
the city pulses to its cycle of life
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That’s my school-neighborhood, uh-uh! I don’t know if I know that exact station, but I pass several just like it, whether I’m walking up from the Metro or driving.
_Erin B. (newly fledged citizen of the city–despite living in the suburbs)
ummm…
perhaps I should give the poetry a rest, as I meant to say that the Hess Station on Rhode Island is a beautiful place. Sorry.
Please don’t stop, I love your poems.
…and this is a really good one, you can see the vibrance of the place, like the beginning of Do the Right Thing.