Roller Skates
I remember my skates,
simple really, compared to today’s.
A platform for your foot and 4 metal wheels.
A key to crimp the skate to the rubber sides
of your sneakers before you could take off.
We didn’t have sidewalks so the road was our rink
or the concrete floor of the basement,
swing yourself around the black plumbing pipe.
Push–glide, push–glide if you could call
it that on the rough surface. I tried making a turn,
fell, took a chunk out of my knee, still have the scar.
The town’s only rink was supposed to be integrated
but black children were not allowed.
Wanting equality for everyone, Dad enlisted us for a test.
My group: white kids, the other: black and white.
We paid our fee, got skates with wheels
and boots; rolled on to the smooth, wooden floors,
with loud music, flashing disco lights.
Can’t remember if the other group got in,
Mom came and took us home.
Later, the roller rink was torn down
leaving an empty lot in its place.
Boston Literary Magazine
9/2014
