Come here a second, I tug
by a tall wall
in front of a gray yard.
We put our faces to the gate,
I’ve seen this spot before -
you’ve not.
This is before parks and walks and food and France -
We squeeze our eyes up to the gate -
someone took time to tattoo
every brick
and window
with words
and after songs and cigarettes and trains and rain
I was told it was called Utopia -
where you said grow up to me
and I told you I’m trying.
Under an orange night at the start of the summer
We wondered why we weren’t to go in.
