Puddles in black asphalt make for perfect lagoons
murky waters stirring, kissed with light bent from the sun
air conditioners brace the ledge, ready to jump
marlboro in the air, sunday morning is a holy sight
unanswered questions on bus stop benches,
basketball court with boys who have sprouted like weeds,
too fly for high, or too high for fly,
all background music to the thumping of ball on concrete,
Elders on rocking chair thrones atop of stoops,
witness to all that plays out,
from corner store ballets and 3 a.m. shootouts,
The beauty of it all, an orchestra of bodies,
awakening from slumber for yet another day