Tracks by the creek
lead the charge,
a path for future pioneering troops,
boys aged six, seven, eight,
footprints made by me
and our gang
years ago,
running through the woods
chopping our own way
through tall grass, anthill fortresses
crushed by nikes, branches as swords,
sticks as arrows, grenade rocks,
a longing now to return
with them to backyard wilderness,
battlefields and armaments,
and rush forward
as a child soldier, fearless
in fantasy fray.