Hungry
Balancing on chisel tip
Off center and ankle-boned
Opposing any sponsorship
Reboard the growler tanker
Said to be too good,
the kids -
Too good
Climbing ladders
and trusting grip
- too soon
The buildings are too good;
attendance, too easy
Water too plentiful
Cops too bored to call
There are fields and bleachers
Rooftops to explore
Places to hide
cash and weapons
youthful enterprises
for cousins
with backpacks and maps
and a fox with a dream
Juvenile Hall can be reintroduced once or twice
And then
we can bleach your collar
dad and monkey and Dora and bedsheets
dirt stains were made for american knees
rungs for brotherly hands
Clasped at forearm
Tendons straining
Full of pencil lead and sawdust
Climbing into
Not everyone's can
Stand
to step
Directly
Pushing petal
Leaving room
for error
Not Fatal Acceleration
there is only canned peaches
There is no farm,
no peach, no town whistle
There. Are. Only. Canned. Peaches.
That's the hard sell
The truth is
There is only canned peaches
--
4.12.10
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