Belong
A hat grows in Brooklyn
Under an old L Train track the tourist rumbles
His aching body wandering, Manhattan shadows blocking the sun
He walks amidst Williamsburg men:
Spanish, Italian, Jews in old ways
Foreign he feels on snowy streets, the icy sidewalks slipping
This New York for the first time he sees, the tenements
Greatness Boroughed somewhere deep
A hat grows, A tourist grows, An aching body heals
He steps in a shop along the rumbling L Train
The tourist buys a wool cap that is Brooklyn to native eyes
He talks louder, a faster clip as distant men say: You belong