On Howard Street the cigar merchants
Peddle their virtues and roll their wares
As they perfume the air
Already thick with
Wharves of salted fish
And the chink of coopers and hawsers
Trying to contain like vests.
The ladies must dress their best
To look in the windows down Howard Street
With its deco facades and old world arcades,
Its specialty shops like the knobmaker,
The chandelier chiseler, the violin stringer
Sheltered for the pleasure of ladies with blue minks and chromium hair
Just across the street from
The liquor prison with the two-way plexiglass chute
Called Gold Rush in bold yellow.
In the ghetto there is profit.
