Our move to Broadway was delayed
by the installation of the living room’s
plush carpet
until one Friday
after school my eighth-grade brother
mounted me on his handle bars
and we flew down our new street
like a pair of screeching hawks
From the sidewalk the front door’s
beveled window with leaded glass
the arched entryway
the brick alcove
the spaciousness of the place
made me forget the little house
where I had started the day  

Soon my parents had a party befitting
their status as model-home owners
…the drifting murmur of the crowd
shot glasses clinking
occasional shouts
reached my restless upstairs sleep
but a slam of the front door
brought me down to see Dad
standing there looking at the carpet’s
scatter of beveled glass                                   
                                   Uncle Lloyd
had too much to drink he said  

My older brother took me back to bed
and told me Uncle Lloyd wouldn’t stop
using the N-word so Dad kicked him out
It took years for me to know
what the N-word meant
but I noticed the window in the door
always rattled when the wind was up