poem

UnfinishedI loved my boyhood unfinished basementGray stained floor, smooth ass cementThe rising red metal jacks propping up the beamsUnchanged from the day it was bornUnheated, unwalledThe deep dank reek of kitty litter and moldThe girls would spin round and around the stanchionsKid palms squeak ratcheting Ring around the rosies ring around the All fall down.We didn ’t have drywall or drop ceilings,No halogenated mother-in law suites.No slatted registers to keep out the deep damp cold.I ’d make a rink out of the floorLimned by cardboard boxes and cratesSliding over a taped blue line in socked feet,Broke ass oscillating fan I used as a goalie.The floor joists were studded with driven nail points.If you jumped too high it was a crown of thorns.The cinder block walls blotched with the outside wetMom is calling for dinner but I ’m not ready yet.My basketball court was chalkedOut on the gray floor and a red horizontal lineScraped into the mortar four blocks up served as the hoop.The arc and the angle had to be just rightWhen the ball struck to count for two.Paucity! That basement was cold and dampAnd you couldn ’t escape without gettingSnared by a sheet of invisible cobwebsThat arced across the dark spaces every night.The basement was cold and dark and dampThat basement of mineWas cold and dampThat basementOf mineSlatted wooden steps:If you walked down without runningSomeone might reach through and snatch your ankles,Something would trip you up,Stub your careless...
Source: Buckeye Surgeon - Category: Surgery Authors: Source Type: blogs