Two Poems
By Gary Beck
Posted on
Outer Borough
In Brooklyn, when night begins to fall, a cemetery silence invades the residential areas, punctuated by occasional passing automobiles, or by straggling fragments of a grey mass, three million strong. The more venal and corrupt sections of the main avenues, where night life runs riot until midnight or one a.m., offer dull movies, dingy pool rooms, streamlined bowling alleys and drab ice cream parlors. At one a.m. the night life dies of shame, for dreams have moldered here. Only De Kalb avenue struggles on to the hours near dawn. Rebellious spirits from neighborhoods dormant flock to the scrotum of Brooklyn, unable to resist the siren-call in the desperate search for willing female flesh, waiting to be fondled. …
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