25. Part II: Dyre Avenue Days
photo©Jeremiah Cox
of a new, graffiti-free Japanese made train
The #5 train going through the “good” neighborhood, near my stop.
Click here for an introduction to the poem
Dyre Avenue Days
©2002 by the author, all rights reserved
Windows black with soot:
Try to look through the paths
etched by rain at a sky forever attempting
to be blue,
never passing gray,
as you stand within the elevated
120 decibel train,
ironically known as the subway,
the number 5;
the Dyre Avenue line.
You are the voyeur
of the balloon lettered spray painted buildings,
of the subliminal flashes of factory workers
all named by the Caribbean,
tied together with threads colored
Carmen, Marisol, Maria, Chica,
as the train races, singing and swaying
“South Bronx South Bronx South Bronx,”
and does the passo doble on the curved track
around the twists and turns of the blackened tenements
bodega, bodega, bodega, bodega. (1)
One day, by mechanical mistake
you almost got sucked out when the doors
flew open and the air was cool and
green with spring and gaping windows looked at you.
You were racing, careening, passed
the faces of Papacitos(2) waiting alone with the tv
for mamas to come home
and put up the arroz con pollo(3),
mammas,
their eyes strained, their backs round and their fingers aching
from feeding the hungry machines.
Your heart pounds as you grab the pole,
and you cover your mouth, as you realize that
the train almost took you, almost pulled you out
into the clarity of the moment.
Maybe you missed the omen,
perhaps it flashed by too quickly?
Did you see
the South Bronx king?
Soft, black, and brown,
at regal, rigid attention,
someone’s friend and guardian,
a German shepherd,
straight and long
hanging, by the leash around its neck,
past the
kicking, muscle-strangling, struggle;
the dog,
dangling, high above the
bodega bodega bodega bodega bodega
from the fire escape.
Its subjects go about their business below,
but you were privy
to the future of
the South Bronx.
The events are true, though poetically licensed; the doors did fly open as we were going faster than the speed of light on the elevated train, and yes, I did see a German Shepherd hanging by its neck from a fire escape, by its leash.
1. a bodega is a small Spanish grocery, often on the corner; it sells, some food, beer, lotto tickets, etc.
2. little boys, in Latin culture, Papi is a nickname for a little boy
3. chicken and rice
Yahoo Comments
(9 total) Post a Comment
- Frida…
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This is truly great! In your profile you should add that your material is copyrighted, dear Sue. Bodega, bodega, bodega: Had I known you better I would have added you are like an ivy-poet: so much creativity overflowing. So abundant and widespread. We should have pollo con mole one day. It’s one of my favourite Mexican dishes, did you know? HUGS!
Tuesday April 24, 2007 – 02:09pm (CDT) Remove Comment
- Sans …
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Thanks I always love hearing your thoughts! All noted! Years later I can still see that large dead dog hanging, oh my! Oh yes I couldn’t think of whether is is en mole or con mole, but whatever it is in mole I want it!!! Off to look into your suggestion…
Tuesday April 24, 2007 – 03:50pm (EDT) Remove Comment
This is really beautifully written, so descriptive. And I just realized that you wrote it. That is incredible! I wish I had that kind of talent, but, alas, I don’t. I enjoy it when I see it in others though. Did you draw the sketch too that you have on your avatar? Oh, and Frida, I know pollo con mole! That mole sauce is heavenly!
Tuesday April 24, 2007 – 08:16pm (EDT) Remove Comment
- Red W…
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Nicely written poem, you’re talented. I’m no poet myself but I’ve taught literature for two decades and I know a good poem when I see it. I’ve never eaten pollo con mole, Moni you must post that recipe one of these days.
Wednesday April 25, 2007 – 09:33pm (BST) Remove Comment
- Sans …
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Thank you; I am honored to know you all, and to know wonderful people enjoy my work. I appreciated the compliments, and now let’s have that mole! Wow, I feel another blog coming on! Must be that sauce…
Wednesday April 25, 2007 – 06:26pm (EDT) Remove Comment
- Nicho…
- Offline
Excellent poem. I can experience the feelings you describe and it brings back the sounds and sights of riding in the NY trains that I rode in when I visited. The huge mix of people of different ethnicities and cultures in NY was one of the amazing things about it.
Tuesday May 8, 2007 – 01:39pm (EST) Remove Comment
Wonderful evocation of the experience. I used to take the L into Chicago from Skokie Swift to downtown. or a country girl, it was always fascinating. I always used to wonder who could live with their apartment windows right in the curve of the tracks. Great Poems, Sue!
Wednesday August 15, 2007 – 05:34pm (CDT) Remove Comment
- Trees…
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rustles to look what Bodega is… …I kind of would like to hear you perform this.. can you not create a mp3 and post it? pretty please???? Its just the rhythms match that of the tube…. lots of cultural references I’m not sure about… but your subway is more elevated than ours in London… so you dont see much through the windows… only darkness..then the lights and noise as you appear at the next station.
Friday August 17, 2007 – 12:01pm (BST) Remove Comment
- sugar…
- Offline
Noooooooooooooo, aaaaaaaaaaw, the dog was hanged??? By accident???….Nooooooooooooooooo. I must stop reading for a little while. Your writing activates my imagination. That’s two too painful poems.
Monday August 20, 2007 – 10:54pm (CDT) Remove Comment
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lauritasita wrote on May 20, ’08, edited on May 20, ’08
That poor dog ! I remember at the 14 st station, (Union Square) there was such a large gap between the train and the platform that they actually built in an electrical moving plateform that would move toward the train when it would come into the station. As the train would come in, a recorded announcement would say something like, “Stand back – there’s a moving platform” to warn the people. The gap was especially wide because the station was very curved. Do you remember that ?
Great poem as usual ! |
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starfishred wrote on May 20, ’08
how very interesting love listening to you
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philsgal7759 wrote on May 20, ’08
Another wonderful poem
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bostonsdandd wrote on May 20, ’08
I love it! Seeing through your eyes is just amazing to me. You pick up every little detail. I’m in awe!
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danceinsilence wrote on May 20, ’08
Real life incidents … happenstance perhaps? Seemingly all too real? In the bodega mode, all seems but a lightening flash, but a flash that stays within us long after its passed us by. A very good telling here of the realness that happens 24/7 in the city that never wants to sleep.
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sanssouciblogs wrote on May 20, ’08
Thanks, all, just please make sure you listen to the train clips-the real thing. (How does she do it??) 🙂 |
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danceinsilence wrote on May 20, ’08
I missed that the first time … dang besides getting old, now I’m going blind … now I have a fever for the flavor of a subway ride once more! Laughing here 8=)
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sweetpotatoqueen wrote on May 21, ’08
Who needs to visit NYC with you as our cyber guide who wisks us into your city via words that perfectly paint a picture! I agree…this is one of your best yet! (Love the rhythm of the train with words!) Bravo Poetess!
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lunarechoes wrote on May 21, ’08
Wow, I love this one. You are very talented, and I love the way this poem really conveys the feel of the scene, the people, the way life goes by in fragments on the train and, yet, the fragments make a harmonious whole with its own flavor. Just wonderful! Thanks!
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skeezicks1957 wrote on May 23, ’08
The only time I have ever been on a subway was in DC. Here in small town America midwest a subway is merely a sandwich! Thanks for sharing this experience with me. But how sad for the loss of a fine animal.
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sanssouciblogs wrote on May 23, ’08
hmmm, little boys at the store can’t give you beer, legally, besides they are home waiting for dinner.
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millimusings wrote on May 27, ’08
Nice one Sue. I used to travel on the old trains for a bit too. I kinda liked it actually. We lived in the hills so we went through a few tunnels along the way. Ahh thanks for the memories even if they were different. City verses country. You city gal you. You do such an eloquent job of detailing the days gone by. Thanks Sue.
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