Remember how we’d sneak out of the house?
We hated the yelling and the crying
Scrunched shoulders, tiptoeing off the porch
They never noticed we weren’t there

Such a dusty neighborhood
No lines on the roads
Tar-filled cracks hot and sticky to the touch
Protruding grass a cooling reprieve

We’d push each other and kick at our feet
Toss pebbles at stop signs
And walk on that broken wooden gate
Outstretched arms to keep balance

We had a ritual before bugging Grandma
Through her side yard, to the levy
Climbing the hill in our green-black stained sneakers
Rolling down in an itchy flurry

And at the end of our dizzying tumble
Stood that venerable well
Its stony visage stoic against the unkempt field
The surrounding shoe-imprinted mud

Reaching into our pockets, we’d pull out our coins
The change from our school lunches
The money we should “save,” we were told
But, instead, we threw it into that well

The well was dark, but I could hear the PLOP
I’d imagine its decent; swaying through lingering blue
Twirling and flipping, creating small whirlpools
Then smacking the bottom with a resounding THUD

Of course, we’d make our wish
Never spoken, or else it wouldn’t come true
You’d knowingly smile at me
Your eyes filled with tears

I went back to that old well…

I followed our old path, down that cracked road
Through Grandma’s abandoned side yard
Up and over the levy; it was such a quick trip
And there in the field was our old well

Mud dried, the weather-beaten stones crumbling
Tattered rope choked a bucket-less handle
Insects oozed through rotting wood
What had happened to our change?

I peeked inside that dark, empty well
And, there, at the bottom, rested our coins
No blues, no twirling, no whirlpools
Just our lunch money entombed with dirt