First kiss

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.