and when the chimes without wind get to slowing—
when on each side of the street the sun’s beating us dry
to wilt like the breathless and growing.
There were no escapes so we gathered in the attics
of our back roads counter-culture of plenty—
we laughed as the sun set and threw up in the bushes—
we were growing up so slow and so empty.
We came on the pavement when it still was heated
and scuffed our shorts in mid game.
Though no one complained we didn’t like to be treated
with disdain from the insane
or the blunt force of tar under flame.
So we piled our garbage on the curbside to hide it
and stashed our other junk under hedge lines.
With the wreckage of shingles and siding and yard ash,
we trashed the whole house when the sun didn’t shine!
But the streetlight’s lullaby was so patient in the evening
and beneath it we weeds were grown spared.
We were feeding from the sun so they’d stomp us out soon
to dry out by the stem, but nobody cared.
So we ran with the prisoners out into the yard
and clicked away our food trays.
Though the lines weren’t pleasant the grades came hard
‘til we grew out of that phase
and went to light the school ablaze.
See down in these hills from the mud pits and swamps
there were war fields of kills and old joys.
The lost tires and axles in the dump were our weapons
and the busted up bikes we claimed as our toys.
The “dead” were then stripped of their pleasures and profits
from the Moped sand dunes to the curb rides,
so the beyond-the-home jungles hid a hideout of castles
piled up on the backs of the kids with weak sides.
But we came from the halls of our public school clinks
all robed in their touchable glazes,
so in the blink of an eye we grew out of our links
where the chains broke away
and melted down in our blazes.
See mine was a realm of tall tree forts and landlines
over yard hides and curb sides for the box slots,
and the sandlots were full of the young farts and junk mines
of glass and train tracks behind dead plots.
But there the back fence alleys of shade gave us shelter
and made us with the kid criminals and cravens,
and we rolled with their highs near the flats through board slats
and sat in like princes lowdown in those havens.
For we came from the class of the working and tired
with God-given smugness in our eyes
that in one blink could run the earth dry for us sun-sired
young to climb up a dump drive
and purge it by fire to ward off the flies.
See this August heat beat us at the pool down the street
when the clotheslines were low with the whites,
and below them the patio blazed on our feet
but the cool was screened-in from the bug bites.
And there with the neighbor’s umbrellas and lawn chairs
I’d get to laze on the float with their daughter
while the other one bathed in the beams on the grass
with the chlorine punch right out the water!
And the creek had its bottles in the muck with a tire
so we’d stomp out the shortcuts and yards
through the bush briars stripped to the bright pine groves
and the green duckweed stills
out of sight to light up and play cards.
And we’d each take our turns with the cannonball jump
to see who could make the big splash—
It’d be Zach from the roof off the trampoline spring
with a prayer he’d take it, break it, and crash!
And we’d ride out on wheels as the air dried our heels
and our clothes up the bends in the roadways.
So with the wind in my hair and a girl on my back
we’d bike out the evening most slow days.
Then we’d run home at sunset as the streetlights shot on,
and hang at the park with the searchlights,
where they’d scope out the dealers with the thugs
and the squealers with a stash
for some cash to burn late nights.
There the cars lined the curbs on those one-ways all parked
that used to pain me at the bottoms I’d roll.
For getting going too fast was a gravity curse
whether biking or boardin' the downhill knoll.
But the safety of driveways gave us hoops on the tar
where we’d break glass and bounce off our balls.
Then we’d retreat in the evenings as the stereos boomed
out the room windows and paper-thin walls.
But the links would catch us in the crotch as we hopped
and the boarded ones were never loose.
So on the run for some fun when the games had begun
we’d seem to scrape out for
freedom with a tear and a noose!
So every flower and grass blade withered away in its place
and browned in the porch pots left hanging,
that by the sunny afternoons the boards of the porches
soon saw their paint peeling and screen doors banging.
But the tracks filled with noise in the mornings and evenings
to remind me the cost of surviving.
Still the chain stores created desolation so perfect—
and our parking lot baseball was thriving!
For we came unknowing and unlearned of our days
from the Lines in the gaps of this sprawl—
our chemistry spaced in a gasoline-haze phase
with our burning desires
and a thirst for life’s call.
Soon the leaves stuck down to lay damp in the fall
just to freeze to the snowscapes below us.
The years passed so quickly from summer heat to gray cold
and the sun still had no news to show us.
But the killer was seventeen in a little shack up my street
with a confidence he’d kill to defend.
But he must have known it for we all had this hunch
that our futures were nothing but dead ends.
So we came on the grass to vandalize and hide
so that Gadfly and his boys could return—
We buried our tracks in the sand and took a long ride
to learn a lifetime unearned
while we waited to get burned.
Still the street sign was stolen so this dead end’s unnamed
but I’ll explain where the road it was crossed—
through this funny kid’s brain! So in time it became
understood why we all were so lost.
So I still know summer’s here with the sweet smell of grass,
and when the chimes without wind get to slowing—
when on each side of the street the sun’s beating us dry
to wilt like the breathless and growing.
A dizzying blacktop spin,
Out in the backyard,
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