Clinton Street

by Carl Watson

If she was strong enough to get down the stairs
We would go for a walk around the block,
Maybe buy the 2-dollar Chinese dinners
That went on sale after 8 pm.

It was the 4th of July: I wanted her to see
The fireworks, not knowing it would be the last time.
The river was too far off,
So we stopped at Clinton and Houston.

There’s a Section 8 building on the corner
With some brick guard walls she could sit on.
And we watched the display, or some percent of it
Half of a plume here, a quarter fire spiral there,

A partial rain of sparkling birds and butterflies
Falling between the buildings while
“Oohs” and “Aahs” and “Motherfuckers”
Punctuated the explosions.

It was all the typical arguing of 4th of July
Merrymaking, and when it ended too early
(I wanted it to last forever
So I could watch her face smile in that fire)

We crossed in the aftermath to the benches
On the Houston Street traffic island
Opened up our styrofoam trays
As the holiday traffic drove past

And ate our egg rolls in the drifting smoke
Left over from the celebration
Of our nation’s birth throes
In genocide and violence—

At least that’s how she would have described it