Clifford Avenue morning…sticky hot well before the clock chimes eight…bubbly tar and rutted road meet up at the seedy corner of Goodman and Clifford…close to the building labeled crazily as ‘Al Green’ and the boarded over chicken place.
Quiet and sleepy…for no one, nobody awakens yet in this morning during this forever summer construction…in a neighborhood which does not seem to care.
Across the intersection strides a healthy looking avenue girl. Head held high with a defiant stare at the cars parked by the red light…daring them to run her over, daring them to stare too long, daring them to remain for long at that corner…for this section of the city belongs to those who know. And we do not see eye to eye.
She sees all and sees nothing…knowing all and knowing nothing as she stretches long and firm legs…flip flops dangling off the edge of her polished feet. The feet know…they feel the weight of her anger. Flipping and flopping with defiance.
Pristine skin with a sheen of grace…rosy and dark, mahogany and elegant, shapely and focused. Strolling with books in hand…a summer school student…head tossed back up and arched skyward…and out and around and over the pink and lovely mouth…a cloud of white…wispy poison…a pretty puff and another inhale and then another and then another…extra heat rimming her head.
So cool, so very cool…so very deadly cool. Another child of this ‘devil may care’ corner who buys the lie. Firm hips likely to bear children too young, too young…exposing new lungs to old ways, old poisons, old neighborhoods…old lies.
On her way to summer school, books slung over her arm…traffic light turns green and the trail of poison lingers around the vision in my rearview mirror…
690 Saint Paul 