THE BICKERDIKE APTS #1

14 Sep

stairwell_by_moral_corruptions

discreet vantage, French-sounding taunts
and black dogs, brown-skinned
kids at the corner, hiding three stories below
my gray stairwell leading

nowhere, the neighbors’ yard—how can
she hang from the chainlink fence?
I’m scared to even climb it
it’s like me, to sit three stories, three miles

above—who’s flying over? watching me
watch them. teenagers

a ½ story below and to my right,
explosive and crude, a model for the
ground-floor hide-and-seekers
a car-load of “fuck no’s” and Spanish

and in half a moment, it’s empty
adult voices sidling along the brick
from the front, cackling dominoes, more dogs,
yells from down the street

we raise our voices to
the shingles, well-tanned from the summer sun
I’ve been screaming all afternoon
from a chair, from
the bathroom
my throat tight and absorbent, 3rd floor

you’re invisible, a color not quite blue not
quite white the only thing up

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