Walking along 145th Street in the New New York.

Some of us are never invited even though we too live here.
The baubles and bangles sing
purple songs about your donations to help the Arts.
You think because you never hear anyone walking
in the apartment upstairs must mean no one lives there. I can hear one
of you narrate W.H. Auden’s “September 1, 1939” skipping the line: “obsessing our private lives.” Did I just hear a woman’s voice quote Robert Frost: "Good fences make good neighbors"? Everyone is laughing now. Is the joke on me looking in? Or on you for not seeing me watch you?
The laughter is a dazzling disco ball that spins and warms your night.
Out here it’s freezing. You are the border which divides all that won’t burn.
Some of us are never invited even though we too live here. I am the art you can’t hang
on your wall.