blue moon narrative

i remember seeing the marcels bass man
in the bluebell diner on brighton place
just after getting off my pinsetter shift
at the bowling alley down the street

as i think back now
he looked kinda lost
from the breakup of the group
     that was about 1962

everything around was being uprooted
so-called urban renewal was coming on
     no regard to where anyone would end up
you just drifted until you hit something to stop you

northside pittsburgh was a new neighborhood for me
my dad & i landed on buena vista street
as the mills were still smoking
& streetcars rolled up & down mountains easily

the neighborhood was beginning to mix
like a jumble of stew
black & white folks learning to pull together
     most everyone pissed
     by the so-called pittsburgh renaissance

the presbyterian church on brighton road was in for
a real awakening as reverend bob went door-to-door
welcoming in black people
     putting together a softball team
     & friday night flicks as he called it

jfk rolled thru in '62 sitting on the back
     of a convertible
we all lined brighton road like a swarm of bees
getting a glimpse on his fixed smile
wrinkles on his forehead beginning to show
     maybe even eye contact
     or maybe i'm reading too much into it

nearby columbia place was more than an alley
     more like a village
maybe twenty houses strung together
     hours on the stoops
     made learning the words
     or making up new ones
          the only harmony that mattered

--- e b bortz

(published in earth notes and other poems, Least Bittern Books, 2015)