Middle Street

Cruising the Middle Street Market

Middle Street row-houses sweat,
Their once red brick now black.
Soot runs into each crack
Along walls shining dully and wet.

Once proud neighborhood in years
Before Depression Great
Humbled it, filled it with hate;
Filled it with immigrant workers tears.

Middle Street families are gone.
Left are the aged and
Helpless, who try hard to stand
Up to everyday tasks. Life goes on.

Dog Day’s become steaming night.
And on the asphalt walk,
Scribbled in urchins’ chalk,
Is a protest against urban blight.

My footsteps echo quite loud,
And above me a head
Seems to watch me with dread…
As though I were not one, but a crowd..-..

Headlights flare on the street.
Blinded, I falter, then
Walk onward slowly when
I see it’s cop on his beat.

Once more around the block, then.
Seeking companionship.
Seeking a quick trip
To the Millyards, for sex between men.

Parked on the side of the street
Is a lank-looking man.
I look. He nods. As if planned
I get in, and his mouth and mine meet.

No words between us must pass.
He drives off a short way
To the Millyards. His hand strays
To my thigh, to my crotch, to my ass.

Two moments later we park.
Hot breath and roving tongues
Mingle and prod and plunge
Deep. Hands rip at clothing in the dark.

Cramped in the narrow back seat,
We thrust, adjust, and squirm.
He whispers, he wants my sperm.
His hands stroke, increase desire’s heat.

Then comes my on-rushing tide.
He flows, and then ebbs.
We drive back, nothing’s said
These are the rule by which we abide.

Alighting again alone.
I stare as he drives off…
Am suddenly aware of
The night and the heat and the soot black stone.

Middle Street’s seen better days.
When I was a child,
There were elms. The air was mild.

But together we all have decayed.