=S.W. 72 Avenue, Miami, 1959=
Railroad iron along the street opposed
a row of flat roofed concrete boxes.
That is where I lived at five
with nothing interspersed between
except sharp gravel bedded in
an asphalt roadway hard enough
on small boys' bare feet.
The engineer who pressed the diesel-
powered loco with its rock-and-crush
oolitic limestone freight,
thundered slower for his hailing
candies on us five-to-niners, making tracks
from up, from down, from all of those
almost same-hum houses on that
Though he and his assistant waved,
no child ever saw him word; I suppose
the diesel roar precluded speech,
excepting high-pitched shouts
and our running signaled joys.
Some of us laid on the tracks,
in offer to our god of power,
penny candy sacrifices,
coin surrendered for flat fate
with pancakings of Jeffersons
on the richest of our days.
Remarkable, that engineer,
who may have known he'd be recalled
in future hearings--candy-shouts,
past the wrappers in the weeds
that in the roadway sprouted seeds:
mostly boys and butterscotches.