In Brooklyn boys draw out their fears and pent-up rage
In chalk strike zones on the brick-wall side of the school
With choose-up sides stick-ball
If you’re good the ball went a mile
And got lost in every street sewer
That Spaldeen rubber ball you would die for
With an unscrewed mop-handle for a bat whipping that ball into high-five gear
For anyone to find and chase with the rush to win stronger with encroaching darkness
Sometimes they got severed in half by the wicked tornado-punch of that broom-handle
Sometimes it doubled as a weapon
Out in the fenced School-yard you run around the Rule’s edge
You force your tough self into a secret display so everyone knows
Sweating and dodging cracked concrete tree roots clawing and climbing
Out of the ground lifting and deformed unable to be contained
Every move happens inside a chain=link frame of reference
Out of earshot with bare-rim basketball hoops and faded paint on the key
Joining the dimming yearn of street sirens screaming along with Dad’s whistle call
Just then the on- the-lawn bare-knuckle street fights own the block
Pinned to the rocky dirt neighbors cheering and scolding
The cement stoop in dusk’s waning heat as the fire hydrant’s angry gush rips blood-water
Into open car windows soaking dashboard stereos
Siphoning every bit of black-smoke rage from the Chevy Nova
Banging maestro arias out of the Godfather-theme car-horn
As everyone runs not knowing if its after another ball lost a whole block down two-way Benson Avenue
Or if soaking-wet Vito is gonna dole out beatings until the crushed red velour interior dries in the humid night
There is always night hockey on roller skates with car-door bumpers on both sides of the street
High speed skaters body checks in a world of no-rules chance
Someone always needs to lay down the unwritten with a blind-side reminder
Colliding in the reckless Corridors against steel doors that give-in and bend
More than the oily asphalt street coated with road rash and sweat.
Soon clueless moms beckon with droppers of love
And dinners are saved on foil-wrapped plates as the sun officially bows out
Nobody wants to go in no one is done everyone is just getting started
And the humid still air hums thick around the street lamps in the dark glow
As these boys hug each other with respect out in the open one step closer
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