I love to tell people how I saw FDR go up Pitkin Avenue      
   in an open car, in 1944.
It's my own special spot in history.
My perceptions are youthful, though you're hearing them 
   from a man closing on 60.
They flow from a 7-year-old standing in the hot sun,      
   hearing Yiddish rising all around him,      
   seeing the swelling crowds of darksuited men in hats
   in front of Dubrow's and Abe Stark's.
The car passes,      
   and for a split second, all of the photos in store windows,      
   the torn-out front pages from the Daily News Coloroto section,
   displayed here in Brownsville the way Jesus is shown in goyische neighborhoods
Come to life in the noble figure (He saved us from the Depression) seated
   with upraised arm.
He speeds by, up toward Stone Avenue, on to the Kishke King.
FDR waves,      
   and is gone, back to history
And safely stored in my memory.
                             
                           
7/13-8/14/97

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