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.