Peter Pizzi

Kids in America

I hear it in the supermarket—
reaching for a box of Kashi
when the chorus hits.
I’m twelve again,
standing with my band
in a dim basement.
A pocket comb for a microphone,
belting it out
like I was Kim Wilde herself.

My voice was high,
clear enough to pass—
boy, girl—
it didn’t matter.
I hit the notes full force,
the radio blaring,
the verse daring me to believe
we were halfway to the stage.

There were five of us,
from different schools.
They lived up the hill—
the part of East Boston
where the houses stood apart,
not crowded in rows.

None of us played instruments.
It didn’t matter.
We claimed our parts:
two guitarists, bass player,
a drummer, and me—
the singer.

I knew the words
before the beat dropped.
I talked too much,
laughed with my whole body,
wore cologne to school from a magazine.
The dance floor was my game.
The other boys clung to the edges
like the walls might keep them safe.

I began drawing an album cover,
imagined outfits, our names in block letters.
I saw us onstage,
lights spilling over our faces—
no curfews, no endings,
our hearts syncing to the same beat,
becoming something bigger
with a hit song.

We lasted maybe three weeks.
No chords. No strings. Just me,
still asking to practice.
They got restless,
said the song was getting old.
They sat back, watched
as my voice bounced off the walls.
By the end of summer
one of us had moved.
The others drifted to the new arcade,
trading our big plans for Donkey Kong.

Puberty came like a rumor—
everyone else seemed to know first,
voices cracking, faces turning sharp.
They got taller. Meaner.
I didn’t. Not in that way.
Part of me stayed
exactly where we left it—
a voice mid-chorus,
no one left to hear it.

I finished that album cover—
drew us like comic book heroes,
thick black outlines anchoring the dream.
Me in a cut-off tee
and high-top sneakers,
hair blown back,
standing at the mic
as if a single note
could begin it all. 

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Peter Pizzi is a writer, visual artist and public-school teacher from Boston, MA. Rooted in the city’s neighborhoods and the daily rhythms of his classroom, his work explores memory, desire and the small rituals that give shape and steadiness to a life. He is currently pursuing his MFA in Creative Writing (Poetry) at the Solstice Low-Residency MFA Program at Lasell University.