small watchman
from a Bronx window
I marveled at beards and kerchiefs
alien voices and gestures
flooding my birth-city
They put down their bundles
they peel the first banana
I call back across wars and seven decades
dear strangers, forgive me now
that I did not hug your knees
signifying gratitude
that out of all the world you chose
our coast for your landing
Has it been a good move?
You would not go back?