238th Street Station

No, the wild turkey did not
chase me away as I walked
toward the tiny triangle park
created by Kenwood Parkway
arching around itself.

Spring Lake barely visible
through the thick copse of trees
in full bloom.

Yes, it did appear
out of nowhere
and slowly stroll toward me—
a saunter on stilts. No,
it was not in my dream last night.

Inside the Punch Bowl
in Kingsbridge,
the Bronx, was.

Was it a dream
or flashback to 1986?
No cast on my foot, but
those boys I knew from college,
they were definitely there.

Order another pitcher
of whatever’s on tap.
Let’s stick to beer tonight.

I swear I could smell
the Stella D’oro Biscuit factory
down the street
though it’s been gone
over a decade.

Shtreimels are no longer
from the Bronx. No, I wasn’t
trapped in some deep underground

subway tunnel
like in so many others I’ve had.
All elevated and rumbling on this time.
Yes, those are seagulls
flying over the station.

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