BLEECKER STREET EXEGESIS

I’m dreaming of a Bleecker Street
that I don’t know – that none has ever seen.
It thrives in the back of my heart
in the borough known as Queens.

What the author is referring to is a residential block in the Brooklyn-Queens bordering neighborhood called Ridgewood. It’s a blue collar, working class community that includes numerous ethnicities residing in tandem. Amongst them are Slavs, Poles and Italians. Also: hipsters.

There is a bar upon the corner,
awaiting to be discovered
where serving wenches aim to please
in ways as yet uncovered.

Windjammers, an old style pub at the intersection of Bleecker and Forest Streets, is notorious for it’s sexist and degrading hiring practices. Neighborhood scuttlebutt has it that no girl over 25 need apply, and that, for employment, measurements are considered more than Curriculum Vitae. Service is not known to be strong at Windjammers, but seats are nonetheless difficult to come by.

If you make your way to this fine club upon a hill

Artistic license is taken by the author. The business is on a flat, planar street.

be sure to give a tip of your hat to the waitress known as Jill.

Jillian Partowski has had several run-ins with the authorities: two drunk and disorderlies, three narcotics possession charges, and two counts of prostitution.

She will satisfy your soul in ways true and sublime
but leave that girl alone because you know that she is mine.

The author, likely a part-time pimp, is presumably using the poetic form to drum up business. There are other employees of Windjammers that are suspected of being involved in illegal activity, but none with Miss Partowski’s arrest record. The degree of doggerel in the verses included support the popular interpretation that the author is not a professional poet, despite the evidence of hipsters in the community at the time of publication. Frequent Windjammers at your own risk.