Kensington,
A town on the Hudson
And the Sing Sing Kill...
A haphazard maze of knotted streets,
Overlooking the river and the Kill...
A steep hillside of houses
That huddled together, 
Held on to each other
To resist sliding down to the river...
Clapboard houses
With doors that opened
Onto downhill sidewalks.
But steep as it was,
Living was better on the hill
For the top hats 
Who moved there
From the gorge and the creek
And the rough river bank.
The town eventually fashioned a street grid,
But too late for Tider Banks' horse
That lost its footing on wet cobble stones
On Trade Street 
And skittered downhill
Unable to right itself
And caved in the front
Of 242 Peter Wozen Street,
A sharp-angled alley
At the bottom of Trade Street.
The neighborhood pretended nothing happened...
Carted the horse away,
Fixed the front of 242,
Bought a new horse for Tider Banks.
The rest on the hill knew to stay mum,
Since there were several pairs of reprisal eyes,
Keeping the secrets of the hill
On the hill.
Though somewhat later
Street lamps and city assessors
Shined lights on things that happened
Up on the hill,
Overlooking the Kill
'
*A creek, riverbed or water channel carved by a river.