Suzanne Vega - Ironbound

Fancy poultry In the ironbound section near Avenue L where the Portuguese women come to see what you sell the clouds so low the morning so slow as the wires cut through the sky The beams and bridges cut the light on the ground into little triangles and the rails run round through the rust and the heat the light and sweet coffee color of her skin Bound up in wire and fate watching her walk him up to the gate in front of the ironbound school yard. Kids will grow like weeds on a fence She says they look for the light they try to make sense. They come up through the cracks Like grass on the tracks She touches him goodbye. Steps off the curb and into the street the blood and feathers near her feet into the ironbound market In the ironbound section near Avenue L where the Portuguese women come to see what you sell the clouds so low the morning so slow as the wires cut through the sky She stops at the stall fingers the ring opens her purse feels a longing away from the ironbound border "Fancy poulty parts sold here. Breasts and thighs and hearts. Backs are cheap and wings are nearly free. Nearly free"