We
used to take in the spinners and the skaters
swallowed
up in a bloodstained afternoon
and
ruining the streetside to meet and beat it.
They'd
sit with scuffs and scabs gone maroon
on
the skin as offerings to the elite skater’s seat
who
had them beaten to the sideline dune
to
marvel at his glory.
The
boys eat the tar,
who
rise and wipe on asphalt—
emasculated.
There
are no free rinks or driveways ‘round
this
summer at the school lot's frontiers,
so
one beyond the other’s glare and tone
defeats
the demons in his gear and hears
his
bones break on his drumline to the stone,
and
now sits out leers through others’ jeers
as
his comedy unfolds.
Boys
pick out weakness
and
squash the injured brother—
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