On the corner of Market & India...

a twisted neon sign
ribbons the building's edge
spitting light at the night
through missing letter teeth
unaware of its halo
flashing disjointed memories
of immigrants
who stacked their lives
brick
by brick
into brownstone
that flakes until nothing
remains but blurred shadows
of who they were
before the pink buzzing light
eulogized their names
the McKennas
Soos
Goldsteins
swarming beneath the armpit
of the lady in the harbor
chattering in tongues
as they prepared
to set their blood
into the stone of America
building the houses and factories
that line the street
where the corner screams
to the night
as old men tell their children
of lambs led to slaughter
red armbands
and yellow stars
how they got here
how they escaped
they wag their heads
from side to side
like the O
that swings in the sign
buzzing and zapping
old people
who shuffle and stoop
wrinkling
like the cracks in the sidewalk
people too old to have been children
who talk in tongues
loosen with the wind