knees and trees

“want to race?” we asked
I took off running, rhythm in my knees
I ran through sidewalks by record stores and
I was skinny and tall and had holes in my shirt.

He began to trot around
Around the other way. 
Buttons pulling on button holes
(which were the only holes in his)
his arms flailed and he slowed to have a chat
with grandmother at number 4, Rollins street.

I ran in grass and lawns and trees
branches broke beneath my toes
Sometimes I wore shoes and sometimes
I wore feet, rhythm in my knees.

I ran a little rushed and I ran a little profit
I went downstairs in the summer time heat,
And I sat for a while on an old sinking couch
Her little sister and I watched birds fly poetically on the television set
I ran with rhythm in my knees out the screen door past a Mama with chicken soup
A Mama’s older daughter sank where I sank in the sinking couch
(Though I was already blocks and rocks away)
Her little sister turned off the poet seagulls and said
He was here, he won’t be back, and he has rhythm in his knees.

I ran past the blocks and rocks,
Pounding without trudging,
I grew hair on my head and wind in between
I ran with rhythm in my knees
At the end; dancing a bolero
Solo solero slowly.