We boys at twelve,
Rowdy, loud, aggressive,
Riding elevators, punching buttons, scratching grafitti.
Who will let us in?
Playful boys, hiding Luckies in secret places
Rubbing fingers with privet leaves to hide the odor.
Sharing obscene humor, punching shoulders.
Basement to roof, we owned the building.
We boys of 3280,
Hallway boys now grown.
The halls remain as
Voices of a thousand pretenders
Mask echoes of our youth.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
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