By P.D. “Phoenix YZ” Battle

I am 20 and I think the park is the reason.
Where else could he take 7 kids in a utility van?
Always the park and baloney.
My father once a weekended us
us to his favorite one spot.
deep inside the projects.
Now we six spring
from the utility spaceship
onto huge sliding hills,
dazzled by his hideout.
Open country like fields of my endless adolescent mind;
a whole new planet,
just behind section 8.
It had one big climbing tree
where we played in a perfect way
till he showed us the old graffiti painted juke joint
Bragged about his band gigs there
It leaned at me;
a mocking crooked smirk.
windows boarded and broken,
beneath neglect.
Didn’t want to hear those daddy gone stories
or let the shack cave in on me.
So, I ran away
hoping to fall into another portal
with a tree house like the Swiss family.
But I tripped and cut my knee
on broken beer bottles
and never cried;
I cursed my calling,
my sister yelling and yanking
because everyone was angry and looking for me.
said I spoiled picnic with my hard-headed hiding and day dreaming
because “now he’s gonna take us home”
and for once I didn’t talk all the way.
He lifted me from the van
put me in the grassless yard,
asked me why I always had tears in my eyes like I was about to cry?
I gave him a hug and goodbye,
left the lump in my throat.
Now its as old as I am
and they are still looking for me.
We are all adults now
and none of us have kids.
And I blame the park,
that secret place,
and especially that juke joint that didn’t know how to fit in that field.
no white fence to come home to or planet without graffiti to belong to.