Concrete Sonnets 3

The pennies skip and jump cheered on by players and onlookers as they argue for position.
Close only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades, unless of course you pitch pennies.
Leaning in to measure gives a perfect view of any passing legs and wolf whistles sound slightly different when emulated from sidewalk level.
Like a scene from the movie Marty we huddled unknowingly around a charade and thought it all so important but I wouldn’t trade a day of it.

The big guys steal your ball and hold it hostage for a promised run to the store.
Like indentured servants we did our duty.
When it was our turn we realized the truth of it, the big guys are the big guys. It was as easy as that and anyone who thought they could run a game on one of the little guys, well, they would find just how big the big guys were.

Stickball or scullsy’s waited on the odd car that passed and manhole covers were home base for more then one game.
Anybody’s sister was yours if she had a problem you solved it by way of the good ol’ American punch in the nose and every older person was a step parent.
Sometimes you could walk fifteen city blocks and still hear
“ I know you and I know your mother and I’m going to call her …”

It was a great way to come up …
I lit a cigarette and flipped a quarter…
Heads …
“well “ I figured I wouldn’t recognize anyone anymore….
But heads still meant downtown…..