BACKYARD GRASS

I wish
I could go somewhere
as far as the eye could see -
Hopefully

somewhere

down south like Louisiana where the red beans are so thick, rich and yummy they
taste

like meat -

Maybe

even
go as far as Jamaica - the
Bahamas - the Himalayas
or the Philippines to explore

or
wonder around
up and down
their beaches where the
hot sand would smash

beneath
     my
          bare
               feet
                    then
                        squish
                             ticklishly
     between
               my
                    toes -

But

I think it best
that I stay

right where I am for just a
little while longer - On this

rooftop

where Brockhurst
crosses through Grove and I'm dedicated because they're all counting on me to

shout

down with every bit of the breathe in my lungs to the corner store wine drinkers,

the
slick talkers
and the o-gee collar poppers
who'd probably spend the rest of their days
thinking

     and
               believing
                         that     they
were
           too
                    cool
                              to dance -


On

this here rooftop
where I give hard stares
and crooked looks
at the social

service
two-piece blue suits
and the tapered skirts -
Right

here
on this rooftop
and feeling bad for all the
homeless mothers I see down
there lugging their

babies
around all day long
in backpacks or wrapped

in soiled hotel towels
or sheets -


Yeah,

I think I'll stay right where
I am -

Right here where I can throw
myself down

onto
some of the best

backyard grass around

          while

                    holding that

very

last dollar of mine
with a GI-Joe kung fu grip
because of the fear
that

I
just might go spend it -