Brooklyn, a long time ago
Above and in between black and white blades of static,
samurai in boats discussed war and peace
inside of that crudely hung television
in the corner.
Below and within weakly stapled brown bags,
containers of kung pao chicken
and tubs of wonton soup
going cold
were being held by impatient hands.
I too, at such a young age
dangled from an angled noose
choking from the scene above the smells
mesmerized by the exotic picture
that my grandmother's rabbit ears couldn't catch.
They were supposedly built to last.
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