Billy played ragtime on the church organ but we lunch hour kids, kept time by another name. Behind St. Augustine’s we learned to hit the pavement, sound like an anvil crack hammers hitting steel, Billy playing skeletons on the fifth, we arpeggioed haloed, froze on the black top. Learning to cakewalk This was our battle— tar-mat babies doing handsprung suicides for the girls standing ’round with knife-like eyes That’s all we needed— a rolling beat, a firing squad and schoolyard skirts scouring the lot as we fell face forward hands locked & stiff, the only thing that could’ve come between us was a kiss.
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