a space with the
strength of our fist.
The overpass gangs ruled the high prisons of chain link,
the tarmac earth, the concrete sky,
the back trash alley of rats and wrappings—
Even the plastic junk clogging the storm drains and pinned
to the chains behind a pair of some thug kid’s eyes
was breaking way on this boy’s terrain.
The overpass gangs ruled the high prisons of chain link,
the tarmac earth, the concrete sky,
the back trash alley of rats and wrappings—
Even the plastic junk clogging the storm drains and pinned
to the chains behind a pair of some thug kid’s eyes
was breaking way on this boy’s terrain.
It was a land this
kid thought worth fighting for
being the only one known by touch.
Blinded, a child in the headlights, homeless, alone,
raging and ragged with a pocket switchblade
he was waiting for his daddy to return.
Overhead the overpass swished and roared car horns
so he feels along the cinder blocks ready for a fight—
to throw punches in the dark.
being the only one known by touch.
Blinded, a child in the headlights, homeless, alone,
raging and ragged with a pocket switchblade
he was waiting for his daddy to return.
Overhead the overpass swished and roared car horns
so he feels along the cinder blocks ready for a fight—
to throw punches in the dark.
Leaving just a
bloodstain and an empty pocket
the thugs retreat the stranded kid.
His knuckles blistered, his eyes stinging in the dirt,
bruised and used, his hair disheveled with
the grease of car exhaust, he stills, so hurt,
and slinks down wet and beaten on the building's back bricks.
And the afternoon sun rests on the raised roadway
behind a sky of concrete and steel.
the thugs retreat the stranded kid.
His knuckles blistered, his eyes stinging in the dirt,
bruised and used, his hair disheveled with
the grease of car exhaust, he stills, so hurt,
and slinks down wet and beaten on the building's back bricks.
And the afternoon sun rests on the raised roadway
behind a sky of concrete and steel.
Hours later he takes
his bike out and rides off
in the late night from
that overpass
to the lunar
landscape of streetlights glowing halos
on the wet roads and
throwing shadows—
Stands on his pedals
to coast and goes
on home on his own to
where he lives with his big bro
who’s always got a
sweet treat in the sheets and
doesn’t give him the
time of day.
This boy lives just a
wall away.
--Poems from the Sprawl
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