A white boy moved to Harlem
Found a cold water flat
On the fourth floor length
Of a 6 story tenement
Harlem was black and scary
Everyone agreed so
Harlem was dirty and far
From the village of genteels
To cross into Brooklyn
Was to give up, to submit
To accept that New York
Wouldn't really have him.
After he proved to himself
That 212 was not impenetrable
He found his lot in Brooklyn
Crown Heights, Franklin Ave.
St. Francis Place house
Sublet of a room from which
I could hear the machinery
Of displaced darkness at night
There were other places
And the Shangri-La that
Briefly was 147th Street
But Crown Heights bore me.
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