Can Only a Young City Dream?

“Get back here,” she'd say,
Not knowing where I was
On Sundays, late,
The neighborhood settling in,
A trailer park—
Window blinds split,
Toys left, forgotten
In overgrown grass—nearby.
I was playing with cars,
Carved out dirt,
Lanes and parking spots,
Houses with lawns,
A city formed.

She didn't know—
The night creeping,
Tones fading, my figure
Merged with the unkept
Thicket—where I was
When she'd call me back to the house,
And I'd sit and wait
As time passed,
Until I'd sleep and awaken,
My city weathered.

Years later, I'd swell
Into a being so poised
I'd let rust build then paint
Over it with a stroke
And no wire brush;
But in those early times,
I—a leaf,
Near green—I held no gripe
And rebuilt the city,
Carved out of dirt,
Lanes and parking spots,
New houses,
New lots.