Two poems about Brooklyn

5 Oct 2023

Leaving the warm
Peopled place into the black street —
A headwind of freezing rain wants me to stay,
Corrals me back towards the still closing door. I falter

Ten dollar massaman curry
in a melting plastic container. The laughter
of friends, unexpectedly some waffles (first batch
chewy, second crisp) and dark red berries, learning
the name of a stranger which will continue arriving,
sweeter and closer over time.