I watch this kid
fold a world map tablecloth
around his body

and call himself The Earth
Like that is
his wrestling name

He plans to join
the downstreet kids
who have made a ring
out of old mattresses

Sheets tied together
someone’s actual mailbox
repurposed
as a turnbuckle. The other
turnbuckles

are city-issue trash cans
Kids are leaping
off them, yelling names
that they have chosen
for themselves. Soldier Man!
The Hurricane!
Robot Shark!

The Earth readies, and
hurdles down
Likely he’ll get pummeled
but that’s why
any of this happens. He
runs into the sun, laughing
the arctics tied
around his neck

I think about the times
or time I was a boy
How when a boy runs
(or fights, or loves)
he flares out his world
like a cape