It was that summer
19 years old I lived alone
fevered with independence
efficiency apartment on Summit Avenue
scratch cushions pull-out couch
Goodwill dishes my boyfriend and I
drank liquor from jelly glasses pounded
the thin mattress even flatter ignored
the metal frame bruising our backs
It was that summer
freedom meant working
Wisconsin Bell Telephone Company
long distance operator 26th & Highland
on the roof men with rifles protecting
the communications center claimed
danger of rioting a takeover
IDs required in the lobby no one spoke
on the elevators the cafeteria on break
cut corn and meatloaf slabs steaming
on shiny white plates I squirted ketchup
a co-worker slapped spoonful of mayonnaise
when I asked she said lots of us use mayo
and us meant black people and even though
she always carried a paperback just like me
us also meant different foreign
It was that summer
when the three men who rented
an apartment above mine thundered
down the stairs heavy boots helmets
camouflage rifles combat-ready
National Guard my neighbors maybe the same
men who jumped into the road guns shouldered
at Reservoir Park a checkpoint for entering
or leaving the city to discourage another claim
marauding bands of armed men.
It was that summer
when throwing rocks and curses
was 30 seconds on the six o’clock news
and sunlight burned the asphalt
on the 16th Street Viaduct
