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Bones

Lunch Break in Druid Hill

By Medea M. Elvy | Posted 8/15/2001

The west side coughs up its stories on the walls
painted quick and bright
to punch the silence
R.I.P.s to Boo, Ski, Tar, Kris, Trek, Gray, Deon, Shawan, Terell
public memorials of the ego
Recognize Me
Don't Forget My Name

But life smokes a stranger version of itself
and jerks on into light into dark again and again
searching for a base that's free
and the chicken is dropped into deep metal baskets to fry
on every block
the church is singing to be saved
pulling mourners in
the alley's stashing bags to sell later
beauty parlors curl and straighten for the funerals and the masses
people come together and pull apart
some of the boats are tied to the pier so loosely
their freedom to wander from place is ample and finite

Braided children double dutch the sidewalk
in pink and yellow sundresses
their cross over the thin rope is tricky
to place their feet in the right spot
keeping time and balance
now higher, higher, higher, faster, faster, faster,
tennis shoes scuff against the asphalt
and outside of these streets, no one watches
far away, we expect only falls
four feet pat the street as the second child jumps into join
and no one is watching this

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