June 22

Sidewalk Kingdom

He claimed the corner sidewalk his domain
the traffic signal his moat control:
green, inviting pedestrians to risk wild
gesticulations, raucous shouts and such;
red, producing claims of victory
and a dance of celebratory turnings.
The old woman pulling a half-filled cart
got half-way across on green, saw
the corner king, turned, scrambled back.
Next, a young mother, pushing a stroller
with babe shielded from the king’s view,
finally saw and heard and froze.
The king was jubilant as he watched
the stricken mom and breaking cars
he stomped and bellowed joy
almost falling as I asked his back,
“Do you dream? In the night?”
He turned, his turn for fright.
“Scratch and ramble,” he threatened
as if it was enough to send me away.
“Itch and bramble,” I answered back.
He cocked his head in listening pose
“Tell me then and the money’s yours.”
He eyed the dollar I waved around.
“Fire,” he yelled, as passersby took
a wide berth. “Fire, fire,” screaming
at the averting eyes. “Does the fire
touch you?” He cocks his head again.
“Always.” he answers, “ It never
hurts. Never burns.” “Passion,” I say.
“We need some chalk,” I continue.
“Chalky chalk and chalky talk.”
Cocks his head to hear what I’ll say.
“Yellow and red are all we need.
Stay, I’ll get some from the drug store.”
Chalk as medication I mutter to myself.
Chalk in hand, I bend down, draw
flames around the borders of one of
the squares on the corner sidewalk.
“Get in,” I say, “and sit down,” I
instruct. “Here’s the chalk; it’s yours.
Use it when you occupy a corner again.”
From Dreams From the Street