edited version + alternate

at night we would hide with our flashlights
under a blanket of asphalt, and with pens and knives
(usually blunt), we'd scratch out our names beneath the avenues,
hoping they'd be recognized, hoping
we'd be there to see it. on good, clear days,
we'd sling hammocks from streetlight
to streetlight, and try to unwind.
we learned all the words of each song
that briefly greeted us from the windows of passing cars.
we were most comfortable in the back alleys
but aspired to the interstates and freeways.
our fingers would never touch a map,
and our eyes avoided road signs;
we had never set a destination, and never would,
but we hoped it'd be nice when we got there.



my teenage years were spent hiding
under blankets of asphalt. equipped with flashlights
and a blunt penknife, i scratched my name
beneath the avenues; i hoped for recognition
that i would recognize. on good, clear days,
i'd sling a hammock from street light
to street light, and try to unwind.
i learned the words to every song
that briefly greeted me in the wake of passing cars.
i was most comfortable in the back alleys,
but i aspired to interstates and freeways.
my fingers never curled around a map,
and my eyes always glanced off road signs;
i didn't want directions to where i was going
because i didn't know.
i only hoped it'd be good when i got there.