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Poem	And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews, any man a boy given this chance of making a new sidewalk outside the apartment building where some of them live, three old men and their wives, the aging unmarrying children, and the child who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here because she doesn’t know what to do with her, she’s out of control, she wants to be a gangsta, and the old folks talk to her as if she minds them and already has that respect for their years her mother finally grew into. The girl who does not look like them eats and eats and sleeps late, sneaks away when they are busy, and tonight will write herself all over the sidewalk while it is still wet but the old have gone inside, and the grown gone home, and her mother who is somewhere overseas thinks of writing her that long long letter, but decides not to.
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