From the Eastside

 
Listen, the sirens are screaming,  
they're down and around the hill,  
stopped in the projects.  
 
I come out here all the time  
for the peace & quiet,  
right here on my steps.  
 
They won't turn off their sirens  
even for a moment  
for me to listen to the sunset, —  
colored more sweetly than a poem.    
 
The yellow glistens like soprano  
through the gray clouds —  
then tapers to an orange diminuendo.  
  
Spring is here, and for that I am grateful.    
I can hear the folks across the alley —  
the people that keep the rooster that crows  
all hours of the morning; they're partying, the Latino.  
 
This culture that I live in here  
is festive, colorful,  
and very family oriented —  
and their music & dance is amazing,  
 
A block away a flute is playing,  
the sky is now pink — fading to evening shadow,  
it soars through me, and for a moment  
I can leave this place dreaming.