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Jun 2010
Our sweaty hands grasped tightly,
white-knuckling, bracing for impact.
My paint-and-peel green nail polish
ruined by the last round.

"It matches the grass stain
on your white tights!" Cody yells
from across the yard.

I'll get you for that, traitor.

We call him over--
Time slows, cheeks redden, teeth clenched.
Our bodies bend with the sudden contact.

Too strong for Cody, we stand tall,
Grass stains and tears follow him home.
Written by
Aniscia Mosholder
770
 
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