Little RascalA Poem by Michael G. SmithMy childhood living in the big city.The city once had
allure; sparkle It was her
prohibitions to a child With wider than
city-block eyes And imaginations I knew the cold
steel tracks intimate Pumping day to day industrious
veins Every inch, every
mile upon mile The trains raced by
like rocket ships I still feel their
wind on my face A boy hidden in
crevices on bridges Always daring and
dangerous And after the rains The flooding runoff
concrete rivers I waded in to the
sediment islands Filled with washed
away treasures Where I used to
play Shopping carts half
sunken; old tires and abandon clunkers I would be gone for
hours Lost over steel
mill fences Into their amuses
of fabrication jungles Box cars and framed
tractor trailers Never could figure
out How I would escape
the funnel trap Of the liquid
containers Sometimes on
weekends I built forts among
the fruit trees In the undeveloped
parts Of the municipal city
cemetery With my two sisters I had apples, Dawn
wild grapes and Julie the bramble
estates It was
mid-seventies In Milwaukee There weren’t
second thoughts To a see nomad
child roaming freely But, all and I were
home for five o’ clock Sitting with our family Eating dinner (With never a
thought to cell phones, internet or video games) © 2013 Michael G. Smith
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