poised for flight, one small
foot on the curb like a sprinter, this girl
with such rough skin the colour
of concrete in the rain, this girl is ready
to fly
her eyes pierce the wind that pulls
her hair back, like a mother’s hand
making a ponytail,
looking for a break
she falls
into a clumsy run, dodges cars with more luck
than precision, and lands
triumphant
on the other side
where she pushes the open
sides of her windbreaker
together and falls
behind a thin line of orange
patrols just leaving their posts
not far off
a school bells rings
