82nd street poem

I always like 82nd Street best,
You can eat steamy bowls of Phở at Pho Hung,
Buy sweet poppyseed-encrusted loaves of Challah at the Good Neighbor Russian store, and smell the hickory smoke coming from Campbell's Barbeque,
wafting across the street from the DMV when the wind's right.

From the corner of Powell,
You can see throngs of people,
waiting impatiently in front of 7-Eleven for the bus,
lots of Mexican laborers, Vietnamese teens, and Russian grandmothers,
and listen to conversations in a dozen languages,
and watch men selling flowers on Mother's day,
and see someone holding a cardboard sign by the intersection,
watch the prostitutes walk by,
and hear mothers scolding children and teens giggling on cellphones.