A Brooklynite
by Anne G
A Brooklynite by birth
my first tender years
are memories of Bushwick
The grand – Avenue
Broad tree lined streets
and sidewalks that gleamed
many cars with bright colors
yellow, purple and pink
Trips to downtown
with my hand in the hand
of my grandfather Isaac
so stalwart, so strong
He would take me with him
to Horn and Hardart
to eat soup for a nickel
apple pie and ice cream
On cold winter days
to the Diner we’d go
drink mugs of hot chocolate
with whipped cream on top
Back home with my nana
we’d sit down to tea
eat rice and corn fritters
and sweet Social Teas
On hot summer days
at the fountain we three
sipping small cherry cokes
perched on tall swivel stools
I’d skip as we walked
holding each by the hand
making memories of Brooklyn
and sweet reverie
JUNE 2016 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
Why write?
I write because I am:
Driven to distraction by the inequities of the society in which we live.
Motivated by cruelty, abuse, ignorance and indifference.
My intention: To poke, prod and provoke!
"Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess." - Oscar Wilde
I write because I am:
Driven to distraction by the inequities of the society in which we live.
Motivated by cruelty, abuse, ignorance and indifference.
My intention: To poke, prod and provoke!
"Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess." - Oscar Wilde
Latest posts by Anne G (see all)
- Depository of Emotions - March 28, 2022
- Boycott! - February 13, 2022
- The Fissured Heart - June 16, 2021
