Under Dojo’s Japanese lanterns
lighting up St. Mark’s Place,
With Bangladeshi witnesses
selling cheap fake fedora hats hanging
from metal hooks.
And punks with green mohawks smoking joints
cheering us on and ancient-polish grandmothers, yellow-stained teeth,
smiling, and Brooklyn tourists, bomber jackets bulging, showing respect,
for the Puerto Rican girl in my arms,
with her black curls and brown skin
and red lips.