and for as long as I’m allowed to live, Uzi’s lighter is good luck.
In Philadelphia, the ATVs roll through the streets, much the same
as where I come from—all four wheelers, going too fast, with a dash
of toxic masculinity. Who am I to judge the engines that bring men
together, the raw exhaust of it all. When I was young, I wanted so
badly to become a boy that I became one. Nearly anything is possible,
if you pursue it. From the back seat of my Mother’s Ford Expedition
I’d claim I could run as fast as the car was rolling, thirty or forty
or seventy miles per hour. I miss that particular hubris of youth.
Now, there’s not much cartilage left in my knees and I only run
when running from someone. The world is a difficult place to live
and most days I’m thankful. But then again, recently, metric tons
of red ink spilled into a creek, and I’ll be honest, it’s hard
to even look at all that blood in the water.
From: https://theadroitjournal.org/issue-thirty-five/kayleb-rae-candrilli-poetry
Date: 2020
By: Kayleb Rae Candrilli (19??- )
From Troubles of The World 