In the ironbound section near Avenue L

where the Portuguese women come to see what you sell

the clouds so low the morning so slow

as the wires cut through the sky

 

The beams and bridges cut the light on the ground

into little triangles and the rails run round

through the rust and the heat

the light and sweet coffee color of her skin

 

Bound up in wire and fate

watching her walk him up to the gate

in front of the ironbound school yard.

 

Kids will grow like weeds on a fence

She says they look for the light they try to make sense.

They come up through the cracks

Like grass on the tracks

She touches him goodbye.

 

Steps off the curb and into the street

the blood and feathers near her feet

into the ironbound market

 

In the ironbound section near Avenue L

where the Portuguese women come to see what you sell

the clouds so low the morning so slow

as the wires cut through the sky

 

[Back]