past the old school
so there’s Mark?
on the elementary
I’m running past,
maybe eleven, drawing
from a cigarette
he found. Joey’s watching him
standing away plotting
how to save his life.
I won’t just stand by.
I bury the butt in tire chips.
my fingertips stink
like hot rubber.
I shake the memory
but not the smell.
and as I pass her house
I’m still in love with Staci Williams.
I still kiss the stream she drank.
I can still run by her house one night
I even crept into her
backyard but the windows were closed,
shades closed there was a black forest behind
me like a poem.
something about coming home, bicycles.
I thought these people neighbors,
beauty or close-by you want
to be honest for the sake of a butt
you remember when you keep forgetting the world,
17:01.3 or something; the exact time it took
to run down the hill and come back the same.
if you sat and watched you’d only
ever see me running downhill.