The North Side   

Back when I was a younger version full of city,
on a street
somewhere between the twisted remains of a dead drive in
And the ever blooming valley of the river,
I had a wild guttertongue,
And I sang under the light of a northside moon.

The slurpee madness gripped me
I danced in cross streets scarred deep with hockey sticks and kuwahara redline teeth and the old adults thought me mad and unsafe as I ran with my hands in my pockets through the valley fields and blacktop alike
I fluttered for years indestructible, it was only a moment.

In the sweet hair of girls I was brave and lost,
I felt the soft terror of razorsmoke kisses and preteen feels
Leah’s tumble of curls kept me there,
Rhiannon swam under the soft yellow of a bedside lamp,
And Judith let me kiss her neck ever so gently.

Full of juice and soft muscle I ran ever over the next hill,
ever towards another bike trail,
ever toward another pair of loudspeakers magic with rock and roll
and reckless lessons.
I pushed back heaps of night on that street that was never mean, never bloody, never more than a giant whisper away, it just was.

The crack of days never curbed me,
I spat on tomorrow and would cry later,
And I still love that street
Because it is still a mystery,
But I find the answer when the blue bells ring long in my sleep,
and I author those street signs
and when I awake I always forget.

From that pavement that still holds my hand,
I have taken only soap bubbles and an education.

Sweet, sweet northside moon, protect me as I howl in the wafers of concrete and memory and night,
sweet, sweet northside moon,
protect me as I grow and fade.

© 2006  Mike Gravel