She’s loud
and wicked, wild.
Philly’s a home
for the human melting pot.
In Roxborough,
we used her streets as stages,
playgrounds, and lounges.
In the summer heat,
fire plugs propel water
into the streets,
soaking us, clad in bathing suits
and bare feet.
Mr. Softee’s jingle can be heard
from all over the ‘hood.
We run in and grab moms change
from the dresser,
vanilla and chocolate twist please.
At night, she lights up like a firework.
On our corner, we all hang out,
like grandmom's laundry on the line
we crowd the block.
Loitering because the cops
have more important things to do.
Pass the 40 ounce and take a drag,
the darkness brings flowers of another seed.
When the sun rises, she will be brilliant again.



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