Do Not Cross

They block my street

with caution tape

as I struggle to make

my way home

Our collection of

one two three four nine

nine houses on either side

of crooked asphalt

A two foot wide strip

of darker concrete

runs down the length of the drive

Pipes branch at every front

It has our mark

four deep lines left in black

Blood from your elbow nine years ago

is scraped away

The guy down the street

pointed his pearl bone

Small and foolish,

we removed our helmets and walked

This isn’t your racetrack

he said to no one

I hope it is him; I regret that

Every child wants to be his father