back then boys had names
like Emmo, Jackson, and Foote
but they weren’t really boys after all
they were fellas
and 25 cents got you biscuits
or a dish of mac and cheese
out the Horn and Hardart automat
(not as good as your mama’s
but still)
and 25 cents also got you a whole
day at the movies
with cartoons and world news
before the double feature
even started
and the guy telling the news
would huff and puff
not out of exasperation
but because he had a cigarette in his hand
and when you were broke
which was often
you could go in with nothing
but Mr. Felix would let you leave
his bodega with milk, bread
and 15 cents worth of bologna and cheese each
if you promised to return
next week
(or even the week after that!)
with the less than 2 dollars
that was due
and the Cuchifritos joint
with pastelillos, alcapurrias
and, especially during the summer,
a refreshing mavi
was always a treat
and when you closed your eyes sometimes
the Black kids sounded
Puerto Rican
and the Puerto Ricans
taught you to mambo
but so did Emmo, the Black kid
you dated for one week
because: could he dance!
and when you left the 845
or Hunts Point Palace
or, on Sunday nights, the Palladium
where you saw Machito, Gabriella
and Tito–Puente and Rodriguez both
with Elpidia, Skinny Joe, and Tony Torres
you may have walked briskly
but all you all had to do was make it
to the subway
because there
you would all be safe
Diana V. Cruz holds a Ph.D. in African American and American literature and began her career as an English professor specializing in poetry. She later found her truest calling in academic advisement to underserved students in the Bronx, Harlem, and Brooklyn, and works for the City University of New York. She has published scholarly work on Rita Dove in Callaloo, and her poetry has appeared in The Acentos Review and the anthology I Feel Nothing Like Good: Poets Against Genocide. Her work also will appear in the Poetry Society of New York’s first anthology.