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In a Yiddish eating place on Rivington Street... faces... coffee spots... children kicking at the night stars with bare toes from bare buttocks.
They know it is September on Rivington when the red tomaytoes cram the pushcarts,
Here the children snozzle at milk bottles, children who have never seen a cow.
Here the stranger wonders how so many people remember where they keep home fires.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.