Charlotte
June 2nd, 2006, 11:09 PM
boulevard northeast
One March afternoon,
where the air is clear and light,
and the song is being played on Boulevard Northeast,
Melody of the Naked Feet.
Its the splash of the sprinkler in the alley
and the middle school football game in the street,
with a procession of cars for a sideline,
Moving along to the Boulevard Northeast tempo.
Their mothers tall like flowers,
Bending over their sons and daughters,
Dropping the good news,
In the little springtime ears.
Later, in the second week of April
summer is born in piedmont park
I want to be their early
so its forty steps for every city block.
Passing old man Cinder on his porch,
the traffic current carries his hum.
He rocks slower than the summer wind,
faster than the sun dances across our day.
I know here is where the green grass starts
because every year it spreads
Between the cracks in the sidewalk
where the childrens rhymes live.
Me and brother say our graces
over our brown bag blessings,
dig our naked feet into the new green grass
waiting for summer to arise.
Two weeks is too short
to spend waiting for the summer sky;
well count the stars over again,
listen to the naked feet melody.
One March afternoon,
where the air is clear and light,
and the song is being played on Boulevard Northeast,
Melody of the Naked Feet.
Its the splash of the sprinkler in the alley
and the middle school football game in the street,
with a procession of cars for a sideline,
Moving along to the Boulevard Northeast tempo.
Their mothers tall like flowers,
Bending over their sons and daughters,
Dropping the good news,
In the little springtime ears.
Later, in the second week of April
summer is born in piedmont park
I want to be their early
so its forty steps for every city block.
Passing old man Cinder on his porch,
the traffic current carries his hum.
He rocks slower than the summer wind,
faster than the sun dances across our day.
I know here is where the green grass starts
because every year it spreads
Between the cracks in the sidewalk
where the childrens rhymes live.
Me and brother say our graces
over our brown bag blessings,
dig our naked feet into the new green grass
waiting for summer to arise.
Two weeks is too short
to spend waiting for the summer sky;
well count the stars over again,
listen to the naked feet melody.