Heel To Foot
i always walked a sidewalk on my way back from the park,
and i always approached heel to foot,
because that’s what my dad taught me that tuesday night
i count my steps,
and inhale the smell of weed,
but most importantly, leap over the crack in the cement
but i’d callus my feet because we couldn't afford shoes.
the jumps would send a strike of pain through my leg,
the kind you get when you jump off of a swing
the blood mirrored the red chalk on the sidewalk,
which the kids across the street implemented,
that of which became the mural of my childhood
id watch the earwigs come out of the crack,
i'd bottle them to watch them move around together
and they were calmer than when they were in separate containers
on hot days id run because the cement burned my feet,
and i always wished i could have shoes,
because i loved leaping over that break in the pavement
the years were days trapped within the crack,
and soon i had realized the gravity of my situation,
i had traded my queen for a pawn,
this checkmate left me with caution tape around the park,
and that rupture of the sidewalk being filled,
the chalk eventually washed away and i was left colorless
the smell still lingers which each heel,
and the park is filled with the group i didn't have,
one fixed sidewalk, and my feet were no longer bare
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