Martin H. Levinson
I have published nine books and numerous articles and poems in various publications. I am a member of the Authors Guild, National Book Critics Circle, and the book review editor for ETC: A Review of General Semantics. I hold a PhD from NYU and live in Forest Hills, New York. Besides writing, I like to walk in the woods and am an inveterate New York Mets fan. Please visit my website at martinlevinson.com.
Eleven years old, lost in Prospect Park
with my friend Alan Weberman, a beatnik
who doesn’t play stickball, stoopball, or shoot
water pistols but wears a French beret, black
turtleneck sweater, and plays the bongos.
We’re trying to find a way out of a
585-acre urban wilderness in the
heart of deepest Brooklyn with
no maps, canteens, compass,
food or shining stars to guide us.
We’re far from Mom ‘n’ Pop’s candy store
with its vanilla egg creams, chocolate
Clark Bars, Drake’s pound cakes,
cherry lime rickeys, and long salted
pretzels in plastic see-through bins.
We’re far from the Patio Movie Theater,
with its double features, cartoons,
newsreels and a goldfish pond
in a beautiful tiled lobby to
throw pennies into.
We’re far from Jahn’s Ice Cream Parlor with
its Kitchen Sink, a jumble of ice cream,
chocolate syrup, whipped cream, maraschino
cherries, and a concatenation of other things
that can serve up to six.
We’re far from the Empire Rollerdrome,
Freddie Fitzsimmons Bowling Alley,
Ebinger’s Bakery, Erasmus Hall High School,
and Ebbets Field, home of the ‘55 world champs,
’57 world chumps who left Flatbush for LA.
We’re far from college, marriage,
work, retirement, and a quiet
home in the country away from
the racket, hubbub, and delight
of inner-city childhood life.
©2015 Martin H. Levinson