Pulling away from the 22nd Bay Parkway station

First there’s the cemetery—haphazard, endless

This is followed by the curving white monolith of an apartment building

That sticks out like bone over the exposed green of the playing fields.

Everything’s dulled by a deep set soot.

The river’s long since silted-up—the land around it bucked and wrinkled.

The Dutch were right to call it “broken”.

Brooklyn

The odor of food takes a long time to pass you by

Television antennas on thin silver rods

Are tilted towards Mars

While down below at the edge of the continent

There are cigarettes to soothe the weak.