Courtelyou Road
Ivy Raff
Sometimes essences
Survive.
It still smells of wet earth when it rains
in Brooklyn
No earth in sight, not a patch!
The humans are attached to their
devices, ears plugged and eyes fastened
The dogs in their obedience moored
by leashes to legs of cafe chairs,
wolfine ancestors long tapered off,
mythologies scrubbed smooth
Dirt gone to vertical streaks,
taken by the elements down the sides of awnings and grates
And it smells, still, of a jungled
morning on Cortelyou Road in Brooklyn
when it rains
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