Drive By in Humboldt Park

By Kevin Coval

it’s may & crisp.
an apple. the sixteen-inch
softball players wear long sleeves
beneath their insurance agency
sponsored jerseys. there’s a light
rain. a grey canopy
of sky. you are
hungry. luckily Humboldt
has fried food stands
with warm meat in the windows.
Lucy is the Puerto Rican
woman selling empadillas
not empanadas she says.
her smile a secret
she tells everyone.
she puts a shishkabab of chicken
& tostones in yr hand
like a popsicle. hot sauce & salt.
we walk near the pond
& nobody knows
us
here
&
here
all the ducks are booed up
the birds too
chase each other
call each other
with song.
even the snail shells
abandoned on a rock
at the edge of the water
are left
in a pair.

this is a drive by
date

something quick
to see each other
& make out standing
near the field
house before you
have to leave
before you throw away
the tough bits of kebabah.

the park’s so big
for a moment
you can trick yourself
you’re not in the city.

this same park
where bodies were pulled
from this same pond
where Puerto Ricans fight to hold
their homes on the Paseo.

my hands are birds
at yr hip. a flurry
a hot
sauce.

Humboldt’s beautiful
& changing like all
the neighborhoods

for how long
we will live
here

how long
will we call

this

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