by Kendra Allen
when the bell rings
we don’t leave
we wait behind portables
for friends
and
a boy too advanced for me
we walk in packs
/ then in pairs
across a field of lightly colored dead things
lime green nothingness
a fight at Texaco
we run, to bear witness
action packed sequences of childhood
two girls hair pulling
feet kicking
uppercut jaw rocking
it all feels ok
we move on to Good Luck
where both words don’t fit
in my mouth, vanilla cream slides down my knuckles
and i lick
that boy at my ear
because i know there is no difference between
boys and men who lie
so i let him
we all stand outside the corner store double doors
only go in for hot chips
tahitian treat, honey
buns; the boys convincing men to buy them
sum swisher sweets
the asian owners watching us
every single day
they know us by name
and still refuse to call it
they make us leave
and when we go we sit
on des’s porch steps, where we wait for anything
to happen, just to do, the same thing
tomorrow