Bingo

I went into a Popeye's Chicken shack
In New Haven - and white boys don't go there.
It's just across the little line of track
That separates Yale from non-Yale. They stare
When you come in, because nobody crosses
That barrier; it's like you were a ghost.
A block or two away, covered with mosses
And still a little ivy, stand the most
Celebrated academic sites
South of Connecticut's state line. And here
Their chicken. Yet somehow no Eli bites
The soft warm flesh. Here, both sides fear
Each other. As I ate, I saw no one
From Yale; but there were others in Crimson.