Hells' Kithchen memories

It's the little things we remember from our childhood

Exhaust pipe fumes
The trees in bloom
The hot dog vendors' cart at noon

Across the street a tower falls
Forgotten home of champions crumble

The heat rises off asphalt in waves
The sun off mirrored endless windows blazes
Below on the street the hydrants stream
As playful children run and scream

Adobo, oregano, garlic, and curry
Fill the tenement halls
The odors of of many kitchens, hurry
home for dinner as momma calls.

Souvlaki, Nan, and flan.
Our cultures blend like spices.
A variety and one realizes.
This, is what the city should smell like.