Under Brooklyn Bridge Poem by Bernard Kennedy

It seems like an hour ago that I came
underneath that Bridge, an arch and entry
to the great New York, New York.
Ancestors had come before in bad times
meta recession times and hungry days,
from Ireland, place of departures and farewell.

A grand uncle, to be a Bishop,
an uncle, to be a New Yorker,
a cousin Titanic, saved-
another to be in world bank.
And I a tourist off the ship from
Southampton- in different times.

The bridge was an entry to that great square
where ticker tape history spoke,
and GI's paraded then, Sinatra had screaming
teenagers as if boy band, then.

The great vicinity off Washington Square,
and Riverside, where a ancient President rests,
and Martin Luther King spoke loud of freedom,
his death announced its death.
And twin towers- a history of death black the sky,
and yet its gallery spoke of reserve and kultur,
all from entry through the gates
under Brooklyn bridge.