sparking up a joint i look out at the field where i spent my summers as a child
the fence where i tore my hand on the barbed wire
the greenhouse with the window
still broken from the baseball thrown a little too hard
it all seems so far away
as if it were from another life
and in a way
it is
no longer am i a child
awaiting recess and nap time
now i await my nightly smoke and another day of being heartbroke