, , , , , , ,

I don’t know about your stories with basketball, football or whatever…ball
But in my city, our sport is handball:

Where the outsiders and class-drivers reconciled
Their pride, forces and hides
Each Friday night, after school: concrete playground
Blue round rubber band ball bouncing boldly.
Man, that was our party

Our palms would bump till peel
But this pain, we never feel.
Slaps and echoes drumming
Our eardrums
Before it resonates into what seems to be an abyss;
A neighborhood made of blocks, corner stores, out-of-schedule buses,
Squirrels; pigeons
And apartments ever too tight to fit our dreams,
So the city never sleeps.


Part 2 will be posted soon, but I already have the whole poem posted. Check out my last post! Thank you for reading!!