My Teeth & I

Porcelain plumbing sits quietly
in my apartment; outside,
the industrious are building
a building. My block is changing;
where there were fifty households,
there will be one hundred and fifty.

Five hundred or so will wake up
for work, while the five hundred
and first will sit thinking
about his own plumbing
and about all the potential porcelain
of the people around him.

The sky and the streets of Brooklyn
are gray. In between them
are invisible dotted lines.
This part is yours, and this part
is yours. This sink is mine,
so much brighter than my teeth.