A ramble through the streets, thinking.
In the clear of night at city-side
Not far from the sewer sleeps our high school,
a suicide of upsex petting sprees and neglect.
Across the way is the field of cans
and memories of great (1st time) lovers
whispering to the ear in rows of cars
plowed in fallow streets and reaped of children.
Backyard gardens seeped
near the cemented city river blossom
in spring and spring skyward
reaching the sun with green fingers
fertile in earthlore and learning
Moonwise, lucky at thirteen.