This is not a poem

I was a kid in the same neighborhood 

That saw my dad playing forward  

With his middle school soccer team,

And witnessed the feat of him and 7 siblings 

crammed into one bedroom.

I went to preschool and grade school in that neighborhood

With its underground clay mines that fed 

German, Irish, and African-American families years ago.  

I would walk home from school with my friends 

Chucking crab apples at each other’s legs,

Hoping the mines wouldn’t cave in during earthquakes. 

Reviews

[mattavelli]

Hello, Marc! :)
This is a lovely poem. Have the mines caved in?

[Marc]

Aw, thanks!! Thankfully no haha, just something a kid worries about. I'm sure they're structurally sound. probably.