the story so far

the closest I've come: summer, 2003
the pavement blurred at the top
the kind you could see 
with your cheek to the hot black. 

me: shorts, an old shirt I've long forgot,
standing at home base (a mailbox).
the street: narrow, cluttered with kids
at the center: one with a kickball
ready for the pitch. 

the windup, the roll - the kick
sent off towards third (the tree)
and me: dashing towards first
(the green power box, the one
that baked in the heat, but
you had to touch for it to count)

the ball: retrieved and me: bending
towards second: the manhole
cover in the center of the road.
the call now: close. A risky decision made
Slide. Slide. Slide! they say

the defender: coming fast and me: 
a leap, a slide, a shooting pain. 
Hot pavement takes to skin, bend
my leg in time to a choral glee:

me: safe, but bleeding free.
leg? whole, but hot in misery.