Winter in Queens

in warren dens

of clutter

dust mist

swirls a dance

as needle winds

scream past

draughty windows

burrowed

above the hard streets

where America gets molded

one rough day at a time

the rough clay

drawn from hard lots

crafted

over patched blacktop

and spotted sidewalks

scramble down

teeming streets

stop-go, packed-hell

commute

lets us daydream

our way

to destiny

The Greatest Borough

Clacking upwards to the

Elevated station

Commuting through the glory of working Queens

The Engine of an ungrateful city

The workhorse by choice

And sleeping giant

Screaming steaming vents

In the empty yards where dogs stand bent,

Stacks of cannibalized cars

Jumbled together in wayward piles

Swayed stacks no longer aligned

Disobeying the orders of

Modern times

Proud of our dirty cousin borough,

With heaps of car parts

Near where the starts dine

At the gleaming grassy field.

With a million carved out spaces

For the legion of weary faces

Coming home again to Queens