BACON and TOMATO…………… 50c
Toasted Three Decker Sandwich
(I had an agreement with God that bacon was OK outside the home if there was lettuce and tomato and toast with it. Alone it would be traif - unkosher).
That photo of the menu brought back this memory:
Deep winter, my friend Karen & I walk all the way from Greenlawn and Curtis to the State Fair Grounds on Eight Mile and Woodward to ice skate. Coming home at 4:30, it's getting dark, and even our layers of clothes won't protect us, it is so cold. We are a little more than half-way, and there, finally, is the Woolworth's on Seven Mile & Livernois. We come in pulling off gloves, rubbing our hands, galoshes stomping the wooden floor.
Renovated Woolworth Soda Fountain Asheville, N.C. |
HOT NESTLE’S WITH WHIPPED TOPPING & WAFERS 15c
It is remarkably strange to have grown up in a vital “city of the future”, characterized by dynamism and industry, and know it is now a post-industrial wasteland.
William Livingstone house photo by Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre |
but a strange and rather wonderful thing has been happening there.
Let me tell you about it with a poem.
The New Land
You’ve heard of that city
It had an affair
with concrete and steel
the machine was their lovechild
they named it Advance
and how could it not
be the future?
That city was my first home
Have you heard it’s in ruins?
Next to 40 stories of abandoned smashed-glass skyscraper
and the startled remains of a Beaux-Arts station where
the 20th Century Limited pulled in and men and women
in hats and suits hired porters in perfectly shined shoes
Next to that
long blocks of empty lots
I’ve been gone too long to know how the day-to-day goes
But it’s a Black city now no supermarkets settle in
and nothing fresh comes from a liquor store
So the women go to the vacant spaces clean up the shards
the bullets the needles
hoe plow weed seed and feed the ground that belongs
to no one put in tomatoes corn greens potatoes
And the earth knows they are listening
says “Barter” says “Seed exchange” says “Saturday market”
Outside of the churches among the early sprouts
they say prayers for the crop grandaddy’s hymn and Gaia hip-hop
arms reaching not skyward
but down
toward the rich reconsecrated land
of Detroit
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