American Rouge

Second street. I ate minute meat to save time and money but still hungry.  From my car window is the buzz of life. It's on every street corner.  Americana. It's the "bees knees!" Like honeycombs hanging cater-corner inside doorways. I reckon the bittersweet concept of estranged neighbors. Yet, we all weave around tree-line to city skyline...black and yellow, black and yellow. Streets full. Cabs buzzing, people hustling and bustling. Rainbows of bodies like them blue collars busting backs in the lower east side, white collar corpses, to little green men in eco-friendly matchboxes on the upper.  We tolerate each other for freedom's sake; like confederate flags waving off the beaten path but I wasn't in Kansas anymore.Somewhere between the countryside, wall street and Russia were two lively Lithuanian women drunk off Sauvignon and the arts. I stood in the present as they offered wine and cheese.  One dressed in exotic Saree sat Indian-style strumming on an old accordion. Soon lost in tantric tunes we sang out into the night air from the corner.  Nibbling on Wisconsin cheese, I sipped on festival wine as the waft of soul food tickled my nose. It took me to the Motherland. A block a way Mama Musa used the salt of the earth to cook up down home meals in the melting pot.