Carlos

Part I
You looked so Detroit
that day at the Metropark
in your heavy black Dickies outfit
buttoned only at the top,
revealing white wife beater underneath
and chain wallet secured at your hip.
Your black hair falling
thick and damp
over hooded eyes.
There would be no frolicking
in sunlight for you,
no splashing in wave pools
or spiking volleyballs
across nets.
A class picnic does not
have the power to change
your shape,
to alter this calculated
hardness
and reveal boyhood.
The heat from late May sun
eventually pushed you
to discard a layer
and by afternoon
I caught a moment of joy
escaping your lips
despite your best
efforts to wrestle
it into a sardonic grin.