Pure As Soil

At ten I wanted fame. I had a comb
And two coke bottles, a tube of Bryl-creem.
I borrowed a dog, one with
Mismatched eyes and a happy tongue,
And wanted to prove I was tough
In the alley kicking over trash cans,
A dull chime of tuna cans falling.
I hurled light bulbs like grenades,
And men teachers held their heads,
Fingers of blood lengthening,
On the ground. I flicked rocks at cats,
Their goofy faces spurred with foxtails,
I kicked fences. I shooed pigeons.
I broke a branch from a flowering peach
And frightened ants with a stream of spit.
I said "Chale," "In your face," and "No way
Daddy-O" to an imaginary priest
Until grandma came into the alley
Her apron flapping in a breeze,
Her hair mussed, and said, " Let me help you,"
And punched me between the eyes.