278 Carmita

Sticky, suburban summers;
green lawns and American flags
rippling across civic landmarks
and private residences.
We walk to the corner,
then to the library.
Then, for no reason at all,
we walk until the
streetlights come on and
our legs are heavy.

Someone, somewhere is getting
high, drunk, or fucked,
as we sweat it out
in armchairs, on porches,
chatting about current crushes,
pining for purpose,
idling away adolescence,
and turning over worlds
we don’t have words for yet.

Our nightly entertainment:
chirping crickets and the
cool, blue glow of a
family-room television
through drawn shades.
Far from the action,
we watch a school of
headlights stream by.

Hungry, so hungry
for an adventure and
something forbidden,
I start for home in
lightheaded anticipation
of the day I might taste it. 
But, with each step,
the sidewalk bares its teeth
and silence settles like smog –

Maybe, just maybe,
I’m scared of the dark
and what it hides.