this street is not the place I knew

where ever it's located, its still my body

though carefully checklisted for middleclass uncharm,

we laugh as I pack my bag and you say,

my neighborhood is home to "the whole middle eastern studies department" now.

cringe, but

the collective house down the block is coming for dinner!

and I am humming along to the dissonant line from your new song

at the queer-owned kitch-western bar on Vanderbuilt.

you only just smirk at the line about the streets changing,

but what makes me claim a receptive nod? as if I knew this place then, too.

Here we go, today's it's privilege indignation.

but I grew up in the endgame of West Side Story,

where Tower Records closes to make way for Gracious Home.

and I remember the month when the rent went up on 98th street

and the book stores closed, and the bank moved in.

so that's the authenticity that I've got to stand on:

my old neighborhood: it works for nobody.

and that's where we're heading,

and that is the world.