Poems of Trooper's Garden

In Brooklyn
You walk down the hot street
And when you get to the end of the hot street
There's another hot street to walk down.
Little do you know that hidden out of sight
Are backyards: hundreds and hundreds of
Hidden sunken sanctuaries of shade
Where hundreds of bare arms are
Raising the beautiful glass of guinea red aloft
And dreamily looking through the ruby globe
At the sun receiving walls of stucco and brick
and clapboard
That rise above their blissfully sunken havens
of shade
And knowing at that moment that
All Is Good.

ricpic, 2011