Brooklyn

Grass and patches of snow which lay behind the gate of an unattended Church
Broken glass and candy wrappers and footsteps of the people who came before me it's not for loud music or the graffiti the garbage or the smell the cramped spaces or the hard concrete the deteriorating buildings the constant construction work that upsets me
it's not the changing landscape of ethnicities and accents that upsets me
it is not even the march of white liberals telling me about the evils of cultural appropriation while imposing upon me their own views of music and literature and coffee that makes me feel lost in the borough I was born in
it's all of the strollers at the bars that I attend