The Current - The Rivers School

Those tan and fragile boys on Main Street, that are too
young to make the distinction between addition and
subtraction from the poorly taken notes in their used and
torn up math books, but that are the same boys that are
old enough to hide behind the dumpsters of the mosquito
filled marsh behind the Coca-Cola factory, and hold a
cigarette properly decide to play outdoors in the hot boiling
sun, at mid afternoon, holding stolen melting popsicles
that form a sticky concoction of sugar and dirt under their
fingernails, and they play games of war and throw vulgar
language in the air that mists into clouds never seen again
because their Mamas pretend to listen as they stand on the
balcony, but in reality are too preoccupied as they calculate
the possibility that their cheating husbands will arrive from
work THIS TIME and bring enough money to feed the boys
when the sun sets and the clock hits 6 and they charge
up the crumbled stairs, holding onto the rusty railings of
the front stair case that takes them into the empty dining
table facing the pale yellow toned bricks that outline the
house and embrace these young boys and their rumbling
stomachs that haven’t been able to taste a decent plate
of food in days without feeling guilty that their best friend
from birth is drooling over the undercooked rice and soggy
potatoes begging to share, and so the boys raced up the
stairs just as Mama expected, but this time they were
welcomed to a feast and gave thanks for the meal they
had, because it wasn’t every year that they could do so.
Alejandra Gil // Not always so fortunate
Allison Brustowicz // Drizzle
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