Cities look like someone else’s party
when you’re older.
They look like your own party
When you’re young.

We didn’t have much money,
the downtown of my childhood,
the one my grandmother and sister
and I would visit by bus
every Saturday,
had become a ghost town.

So, we bussed from the Avenue
to the Plaza.
Everywhere we weren’t wanted
because of our age.

I have friends
who have joined
the resurgance of Historic Northeast.
I have others
who have moved away,
and one, in particular,
who wouldn’t recognize our
old haunts.

We have our own corners.