Alameda Street

 - Douglas Kearney

for Deshawn, Eric, Dallas, Jerome & Lerone

We brown boys

          play

                     stick games,

          say

                     nicknames

like BIG D, EVIL E;

and conjure Knievel

with jigsawed dirt bikes

and sewer curbs

for asphalt launch pads.

          We all sweat

          to know flight

          for just

          a minute.

We brown boys,

          hair

                     all knaps, 

          wear

                     ballcaps’

broken brims. Broken rims

from hungry slamdunks,

pro-ball pipe dreams

over ice cream man’s

“Pop Goes the Weasel.”

          We all hunt

          change from cords’,

          Bermudas

          and mamas.

We brown boys—

          smack

                     talking

          slap

                     boxing—

stay bragging and bagging,

drinking summer from hoses

and water bomb barrages.

We throw rocks at garages

making no dents.

          We all just

          trying to leave

          a mark.

from: Fear, Some. Copyright 2006.