Hot Cement

I wish I could step on concrete barefoot in LA

Like I did when I was young in Houston

The cement’s watery heat would lay in the distance, and 

My feet would sear as I chased on my tiptoes.

My childhood

In playgrounds and backyards, climbing trees,

Riding zip-lines, careening into kiddy pools, and jumping on trampolines,

The net set on its circumference, broiling in the sun

And in the summer, after merely a month’s time,

Its rays burnt holes and weakened weaving

Until a good friend of mine fell through and hit his head on a rock

And we replaced the net again, and again, and again.

I nicked my tooth on a pole while being carefree.

If you could look closely, my smile is still chipper,

But I always cover my mouth when I laugh

Because I think it is gaping, intrusive, and ugly

And my hysterics embarrassingly loud.