It’s a death trap. Damn druggies, breaking the lock to count a pile of quarters they ripped off from the laundromat. The landlord will probably never fix this door.

We woke to the explosions and jumped on our bikes. Many of us were armed with nothing more than cardboard tubes, and rubber bands and paper clip ammo wiggled to mean barbs like our hearts.

Despite the dentist’s soporific
My imagination transformed
The street where I walked
Into a takeoff field