Smith street

Where the men wear tats of sailing ships
and the women celtic runes 'pon  hips
and little girls lick sugary palms
and little boys have little qualms.

Beware grafitti and manure and plastic bottle portaloos
'tis a gorganganza of couture
a rich perversity of beauty true
and the trams jang a lang every stanza or two.

All the styles of all the pants
walk the road that lost its chance.
The grey clouds keep the carriage way cool
as I watch from my car like a broadway fool.