I was nominated and accepted for inclusion in an anthology featuring up and coming Southern California poets. Moon Tide Press is publishing it and it should be out in May. The following is one of five poems included. I really miss being a kid…
We ran Ibex Avenue—hanging out as late as we could counting the
crickets, before our mothers called us inside in three different languages
for a late dinner. Paul called everyone a “dickhead” that year. And Tony
kissed all three of the Hernandez girls, even Eva with the mole on her
neck shaped like a churro. On Saturdays we bounced a lopsided rubber
basketball in my fissured driveway, trampling my senile neighbor’s
begonias, then drank from her tired hose letting the water dribble
down our scrawny chests before tossing it aside proudly looking up
to the neon August sky, palms outstretched as if we were Gods. When
seduced by the incantations of the Indian ice cream man, we ran inside
our homes gathering change to buy Mexican candies made with trace
amounts of lead, and sweet cigarettes with powdered sugar tips. We didn’t
call each other fags for enticing the ladybugs to crawl up our fingertips.
We saved bravado for our dads, who cursed the TV when the Dodgers lost.
We all even cried when I moved away. I hear Paul has testicular cancer
now. Tony is paying alimony to four exes. But we were bad asses then.
Lying on rooftops, humming the song of the ice cream man, puffing away
on candy cigs.
(Originally published at Camroc Press Review)