Garden on Avenue B

I see their windows, heavily barred
Not even to keep others out
But to keep themselves in.

Here their lizards are cockroaches
The ultimate nuclear survivors
Walking is an every instant negociation
And tar has smothered the land

But I stepped into a garden today
A garden of refuse grown wild
Or maybe tamed by eccentric hands
That tend to more joyous needs

There were paths and there was mud
An entrelacs of ponds with goldfish and turtles
Water murmuring down
Dingy wooden benches everywhere
For the most likely gatherings
And children on stilts
Children jumping on a discarded mattress
Springs still hardy

There was an old man with long white hair
And Navajo-style clothes
Interviewed by young hip filmmakers

And in a corner, a semblance of order
Personal squares left to their owners’ fancy
Almost ripes tomatoes, flowers or nettles