The curfew in the Ghetto is twelve...

Did you know the curfew
in the ghetto is twelve...
Black girls,
three of them,
under midnight street light
voices in loud, jubilant laughter,
one on a bike
circa 91,
hand me down pink,
wheel in the back crooked,
rubs and squeaks,
but voices echo,
with black slang swagger,
it's a conversation about last night
and how she saw a shooting star,
and "Swoosh
it shot across the sky...
oh yeah, I seen that
before..."
and it becomes a dream,
they all agree having at some point,
and me I was hidden on the porch
in chair smoking, quiet thought
pipe smoke sweet
floating in view of them
just stopped in front of me...
hundred or so close feet away,
unaware of me there,
lost in their
quiet talk,
just each lost in their own
worlds of words,
all talking at once.
They stop, stand
looking up at the sky
"What is the sky made of?
The Bible says God made the sky in seven days
and in seven days
there's a week somehere,
so in a week he made the world
and just put light in so we could see it,
Yeah, he did..."
and so simple,
but just the truth
and a truth so puren and real,
even to children...
So that I could sit here
now, and like a piano,
I play these keys to take you there,
show you how,
maybe why
the curfew in the ghetto
is twelve...