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No Place Like Home
by Adrienne Lewis
There is my mother, broom in hand,
chasing away monkey boys
at our gravel driveway’s end. She is shrieking for them
to go home, or she will make them wish
they had never laid eyes on me. Laying in the bushes,
I can hear them taunting her,
the Witch of Northwest Drive,
buzzing back and forth, bursting into a blaze
of laughter between houses
as they run. I wish for my father,
to click together
a pair of ruby slippers like Dorothy wore—
she woke up with everyone she loved
at home. Dad never came to my rescue;
only her. Short little legs flying to my defense,
scattering the neighborhood carrion,
the lollipop gangs of my youth.