You lie in bed
listening
to the sounds
of the children's games
suddenly erupting.
You hear
the screams and shouts,
bouncing balls,
teacher's whistles,
even a fist fight,
until,
moments later,
they are separated,
the gawking crowd
driven
to their opposing
sides.
You sometimes think
you can hear
invincible friendships
being born,
master escape plans
being laid,
the most delicate
alliances sealed,
then,
just as quickly,
broken.
Fast footsteps...
And you know
the boys are chasing
the girls,
(wanting to own
all their mysteries,
once and for all.)
Fast footsteps...
and you know
the girls are chasing
the boys,
(wanting to tame
all their violence,
once and for all.)
Each and every morning
you wake
to the sounds
of this small schoolyard
across the street.
It's just
one of hundreds
in this city,
one of millions
in this world:
Black top,
brown ball,
brick wall;
for weeks now,
every morning,
upon waking,
there is that
single moment between
sleep and dream
when you lift the curtain,
the light pours in,
and you believe
you know
them all
again:
the unending
lyrics
to the song
of concrete.
Korea Town, Los Angeles - 2/06
