Night-time phone poem

We sat on the flag steps.
the tar-scented wind blowing
empty chip wrappers into our heads,
the rushing drone of
the water
Pushing little feet down.

The incensed cackle of gulls
was to be our soundtrack,
the click-whack, rollllll of tiny wheels
Our metronome.

Angry clouds rolled overhead
but kids don't care. The bigger boys jumped
Into the blackness
When mind-bendingly hot
days of summer advanced upon us,
Eagerly proving their toughness to girls

Waiting
On the hard ledge.

The summer pulled a sweet, danger-filled haze
over those citizens,
Whose hearts were taken from their chests
and wrung out daily into the stagnant froth.