We played in dumpsters,
where the best stuff could
always be found when some
new kid was moving
in dumpsters where the cracked plate,
beat up mattress and
broken kitchen stool
would become our house.
In dumpsters we played.
We ran barefoot
through pine needles,
and grass too green.
Barefoot, climbed boulders
that were secretly mountains,
and hung on fences
that were secretly vines.
Barefoot through construction sites,
and barefoot through rain-made streams.
We ran, barefoot.
We danced to reggae-tone,
hip hop and rock and roll,
when our neighbors held those block parties,
and we kids would just hang with their kids for
the free food and the music.
Like hell we danced,
to the words of 2Pac and Nas,
belting lyrics about gangs, bitches and hoes,
but we wouldn't know,
because all that mattered was the beat and flow.
We didn't have time for ribbons or bows,
or silly Tonka trucks with Christmas snow,
but we did have time for dumpster dives,
and barefoot runs through boulders and streams,
and music with lyrics a bit obscene,
we danced, we ran, we played.
About: Poem was written about a PaM's childhood and her group of reckless friends.