A gaze into Sylvia’s window on 126th Street
Shows a room filled with geishas
Fanning and serving little men in dark suits
Who are sipping sake and configuring their Sonys
A peep into Spoonbread on 110th and Columbus
I see yuppies donning Harvard sweatshirts
Chowing down on hog maws, chitlins,
Collard greens, black-eyed peas, and candied yams.
A glance into Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles
On 116th and Broadway
Points to Hillary and her daughter
Eating grits with gravy and smothered drumsticks.
At B.B. King’s place on 42nd Street,
I can only make conversation about
What’s really happening there:
The cover is too high to enjoy the blues
(even if I could get a seat),
B.B. is rarely there himself,
And those folks who have been there
Say “the ribs are tough.”
Phyllis Taylor, a Rutgers-Newark graduate student in English and creative writing, expects to complete her book, “The Spinach Dialogues,” in May 2003.
