Myspace Re-Post #12: Sacramento Street

Note: Re-posted from my now-defunct Myspace blog, where it was originally posted on September 5th, 2006.

Saturday afternoon is a languorous time in West Rogers Park,
my home neighborhood,
being the Sabbath to the Orthodox Jews,
a substantial portion of the areas inhabitants.
After the traditional Sabbath-afternoon meal
(the second of three traditional mealswe love to eat!)
many of the locals of all ages and sizes,
bedecked in their Sabbath finery,
make their way to the promenade,
the road by the park, Sacramento Street.
The hidden backbone of religious enclave,
Sacramento is Jewish from Rosemont to Howard Street,
A stretch of over a mile and a half.
The residential street passes two popular parks,
The two the Jews love to flock to the most,
And on Saturday afternoon,
The residents are in evidence.

Now my sometime routine is
to traverse this boulevard
en route to a hideout above the thickness of the shtetl
where semi-religious twenty-somethings
convene and cavort.

But ah the promenade is half the fun.
For I stride in a step that is nearly a strut
Forcefully forward, though I'm in no rush,
Scrutinizing the passersby for familiar faces
Or someone interesting for other reasons.
Indeed, while flirtation can be awkward at times,
Due to the strict mores of the populace,
The body language says it all, as young things,
Coming into the primes of their vitality,
Preen and display as they stroll casually by,
For a glance and a look and then maybe another.
All the while parents, the elderly and newlyweds
Pushing the stroller of their first or second child
Stare sternly and observe,
Mouths ready at the gab,
To let everyone know what mischief is going on.

I arrive at my destination,
Find the key in the mailbox,
And at the top of the stairs
I remove my shoes.
Inside is the cool of the air conditioning
And couches and easy chairs beckon softly to me.
After all, Saturday is our day of rest
A varied crowd is strewn across the living room,
Sipping drinks of the alcoholic or non variety
And idly gossiping about friends and acquaintances.

We hide here from the glare of the outside community
Whose suffocating closeness and scrutiny often stifle
The fledgling spirits of our youthful years.
No eyes to see
Or ears to hear
Save our own.
We desperately claw for a few hours of freedom.

And later, as the sun nears its going down
I return to the promenade
though its tenor has quieted down.
Now young men and old rush for their shuls
To daven the final prayers of the Sabbath
And to eat the holy day's final meal
While somberly singing the melancholy songs
That accompany the Sabbath's departure.
Soon I will reach home and begin making plans
For my Saturday evening out on the town.
But for only a moment I savor the feeling
Of the years in this neighborhood
And the Sabbaths I have known.