Fairly Sidewalk

I'm fairly sidewalk.
That's what we white suburbanites use to reference our close proximity to the streets.
No, I'm not street, I'm sidewalk.
There is a healthy green grass median between me and the street.

           Street would be too bold, it would mean I didn't sound foolish when I  

           used certain words.

           Words like: trippin' as in you trippin' or grill as in you all up in my grill

           I'm close enough to comprehend the diction used here,

           But far enough away, that the curb still acts as a barrier.

Sometimes, I'm a chalk covered side walk.
Displaying a new multi-layered, multi-colored look -
Until the rain comes washing it away - leaving me back at my foundation.

Leaving me to wait for new artists, new themes, to emblazon me in colorful adornments.

          Fleeting as these patterns may be, I find comfort in their presence.

          Each serving its purpose until washed clear.

          This natural organic process grows cyclical with passing seasons.

          Leaving me warm with  reminiscences.

However, I'm not entirely a conventional suburban sidewalk.
I'm like that sidewalk that has been tampered with, by neighborhood children.
It's just that the kids that put their hands in me have names like: Emma Goldman, Lucile Ball, George Carlin, and Kurt Vonnegut.
I hold to their impressions.          

          In different stretches of walkway, in front of different homes,

          Each of these hands reaches into the damp cement,

          Leaving a stray thumb print here and a word or two there.

          Waiting in time either to set solidly in or be smoothed out by another.