childhood relativity

It is hard growing up with stained feet from lack of
sidewalks in this town and bottle glass
mixed with sand and cigarette butts make mortar
for pestles pounding the trough between ditch and highway
as they wave their little hands at speeding strangers
their mothers wary would worry if they knew
where they were.
but the street lights are off for another five minutes
time enough for mischief
for magic
for mocking time hanging like linen
that won't be taken in tonight.