Wall Ball

The rails were cold on my hands

but so was the coffee we share with a straw

Topics of conversation trail off

into the luminous glow of childhood

Like the rules of kickball suppressing

we write our names on the cement walls

we watch the smoke crawl out of your house
I set my hand in fresh gum

warm from the chew

pale strings flow in the windless room

far enough to make us leave

Grazing those cold rails

we do not step on the cracks

they are toxic

and will hurl us back into the past


Practice makes perfect

when denying our lives and

living under rocks


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