I took my seat
on the painted split wood.
A chain link fence
near where a tree stood.
Broken glass glistening at my feet.
The weak scent of piss
from where two walls meet
behind the school on the air.
A 40 ounce cap
repurposed a blade
to gut a Dutch Masters
on the ground lays
near a pile of tobacco.
Ever present, the sound
of basketballs dropping
through hoops to the ground.
The slap of pink rubber
striking concrete slabs.
The sound of young children’s
giggles and laughs
suspended by chains
and stainless steel boards
as they swing ever higher.
Their feet reaching for
the heavens.
Memories from a
bench at P-S-1-2-7.
-HymnAgen
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