68. suburbia

instinct subverted,

his eyes

catch

tuck tail

ping

off concrete

and return

like some tilted pinball,

traffic quick between.

.

couldn’t be twenty-five

years ago that boy

chained up in gold, blue

tattoes on a skin web

say

hey baby,

leaning easy on a rail 

and offering the dollars

tucked in the silk suit,

handkerchief pocket,

winks for all

i’d pull in on a weekend

and laughed

and i laughed right back.

.

that street jam

confidence now melted 

by blue boy eyes,

scattered in trimmed treetops

above summer lawns

sprinkled green:

i let that happen.

somewhere lost

the bone knowing

grace of filth

like born on a trust fund.

i wasn’t.

.

suburbs don’t happen –

they ooze,

busting us close

against every hedge

then spitting us out

on the world,

instinct shot.

.