Puerto Rico and Gun Hill Rd. (Original)

I remember Bronx parties in summer,
Boiling festivals in hot streets.
Battery fans for air,
A taste of hope
And trains.

My building was by the rich man's golf course.
As children we'd often tease them.
Annoyance as weapon
Though otherwise
No voice.

We'd save "stuck" quarters from parking meters
Slake our thirst with quarter-juices
These sugar victories
Are what I miss
The most.

When crack took a hold of the neighborhood
And everyone said to stay in
We snuck out to the roof
Between buildings
Playing.

The elevated track crossed behind us
Ferrying the workers about
Easy come, easy go
Conveyor belt
System.

We stole onto trains with nowhere to go
Following our mothers around,
Though we never told them
We saw how far
They went.

I promised myself to one day ride trains
As far as they could carry me
There had to be something,
It had to end
Some where.

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All imagery in this poem is original.

Thank you for spending time here.