Apr 4
children don’t come out to play anymore,
my friend says, rolling matchsticks between
his fingers.
remember when we used to play until dark
until our mothers dragged us back into our homes
he says this between lighting another cigarette
that's why these young men today
can't run, can't lift—
they drop like dead flies on treadmills
their hearts can't take the madness of the world
he sips his third beer
we used to roll in grass, in dirt, in blood
trying to break ourselves
trying to break each other
tell me—
how many bones did we break
before turning eleven?
I try to say something
but nothing comes
he looks at me
and stares off into the distance
remember when we used to climb trees
there are no trees anywhere
what happened to the trees?
I guess they needed more homes, I say
he tosses the cigarette **** into the empty can
and the can onto the freshly cut grass
he looks at me
then starts to walk away
dusk is here
I think I'll sit here for a while
while my friend goes to look for
his mother.
