237 Thatford Avenue, Brownsville New York
Papa's hacking cough awakens me
in the darkened shadows of dawn.
Soothing his hacking cough
he sips a glass of tea
sucking noisily on a domino sugar cube.
Shivering in front of a hot iron stove
crackling kindling ignites
mounds of jet black coal
in the gray morning light.
Echoes of the milkman's wagon
reverberate in the empty streets.
Steaming deposits of dung fertilize fields of asphalt.
Frozen cream pushes through
tops of ice cold bottles
waiting on the doorstep
for a mother's eager hand.