My soul breathes out
where the skater boys ride
down the dusty grey streets
by the tattoo parlor.

Angry muscles tearing at the breeze,
or sitting solid as a storm cloud
on the horizon,
beneath the locust trees,
sweating in the afternoon shadows.
drinking apple juice from a red cup.

I am that dark shape
beside the swingsets.
hands in pockets,
watching the bottle pass,
from lip to lip,
from hand to brown hand.
I am the silent witness,
pretending to read,
brushing the hair from her eyes,
blown by the same breeze,
that dries your wide backs,
that cools your smooth faces,
that carries your scent,
soap and sunscreen,
perspiration, to where I am,
pretending to read,
watching.
saving this moment
of your lives.