The Mayors of 12th Street

Sidewalk people. Street smart.

Ron English, a diva in chalk. Sebastian, the sombrero-clad bicyclist.

Memories surround Carl at the old Carl’s Bar.

Raymond Thunder-Sky, adorned in a hard-hat helmet;

Fifi Taft Rockefeller, feisty in sequins and green wig.

They are all Mayors of 12th Street.

Screen doors. Slammed shut. Suddenly open.

Nickels. Dimes. A Gateway Quarter brawl.

Corner dealer. Cops stop. They smile.

All once farmland here. Long before the Drop.

Rows corn. Holstein cows. Dairy airs.

Hillbilly feuds. Zombie Amish. Jammed cicada jelly.

Accidental empires. Cobble-stone alleys of the Rhine.

A hungry legend. Perhaps apocryphal tale.

Batavia’s lost gold ingots, buried. What lies beneath.

Somewhere hidden. A secret under our 12th Street rubble.

Gold-miners still dig here. Like fierce gerbils.

Welcome to 12th Street.


By Felix Winternitz

23 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Dr. Mark Mussman The solution to ending homelessness and the housing crisis isn't going to be easy. Proposed quick-fixes by our local governments are likely to increase income inequality and reduce th

Where do we go from here? Cold winters and warm summers Howling winds and blazing heat Endless days and everlasting nights Scrambling for something to eat Mothers with their children Trying to make en