Ode for the Fucking Sake of it

I want 
the honking, smell of knishes and sauerkraut 
whiff of delicious peanuts that taste like shit 
I want 
the Latinas with hoops and jeeps 
    the parks and it’s unique craziness 
    man in elephantnose riding bike 
    man in grey suit playing flute 
    woman in fountain giving speech 
    SWAT team in gear 
                   invisible on rooftops, in vans 
I want 
the hoods and dancers 
the wall street crews and camaraderie 
the bridges and bikepaths 
    incense tables, books, and DVDs 
    rats making garbage pails shimmie 
graffiti on the walls and subways—deep in the tunnels packed with crews 
the crews busting hip-hop 
    playing ball 
    wearing Yankees jerseys and gold 
the bodegas selling dope 
    speaking Spanish 
the passersby blowing kisses at men’s dates 
the man saying yum to the tall girl in heels 
the dog runs, the chess tables, the arches 
lakes, boathouses, and trees 
the screeching subways with their express and local, stained-glass stations, jazz musicians, and drummers 
the piers, the canals, the rivers, the ferries 
the shimmering of skyline night 
the terrorist attacks, the steel burning, the buildings falling, 
the smoke that stayed, hovered, stank 
of burning flesh and steel 
the following altruism, sympathy, antipathy, and apathy 
all the park benches 
the corners and their dealers 
the barrios and the bullies on bicycles 
and most of all the stoops—their games, their gossip, and a girl with a nice neckline to smoke with—