I’ve edited friends on the veranda
as I grow older in the past reeling back to
strains stranded on back porches of dilapidated houses experiencing
gentrification for the first, not the last
time, winding up to the pitch, leaning in for the hit,
collapsing to the impact of ball in hand,
waiting for skin to bruise and remove all pain
as blue makes way for purple makes way for red
makes waves in soundless echoes popping
over the fence to hide out from all,
not every,
criticism drawn in sand castles built to mimic prime real estate
in a great school district where the kids are definitely
not taking drugs to experience grammatical ecstasy from their lives
comma flight