Out behind
the blood red barn.
Hauling off a cigarette,
all of 12 years old.

Across the spring sewn fields
at the edge of the treeline
a bobcat, seemingly oblivious
to my shenanigans, moves slowly, methodically.
Perhaps looking for some small snack.

The wisps of clouds
cast see-through shadows
on the landscape.

My mind drifts with the
run-of-the-mill thoughts.
Thoughts of a boy out of touch
with the adult work-a-day world.

I'm just trying not
to get caught smoking,
neglecting to take any precautions
like washing my hands
or even chewing some gum.