Even from here in Ohio
when I look East
I can see the Brooklyn Bridge
rising from the second stories of tenament flats.
Dog sized rats and their babies
playing chase beneath the supports
through rising carcasses of forty-ouncers
and green-gray plastic, gut shot and split
slippery innards sliding towards the East river.
Somewhere close by
a young hispanic/black girl
dances with her friends on the stoop
wearing only a faded flower print
the pink bottoms of her feet
slapping the concrete
and the giggles
my distant ears.