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i wake
    it is 8
    i am seven
the sun floods in through the window
(late!)     2 pop-tarts and some juice and out the door in 9 minutes flat.-
r   u   n   n   i   n   g
recon the neighborhood. "Hey, Scott".  We team up. A few of the"little" kids are out as well.
Check at Ricky's. Some sort of punishment, but a little whining and he is free as well.
More kids come out.
          DIRT CLOD WARS!

                                                               ­                                                                 ­                  seek cover

They go behind a dumpster.  us, in a ditch.
we lob (never throw! ) the chunks of red clay which hit the asphalt with a puff
of puce vapor.
Some kid hits my little brother with a thrown clod,
               with a rock in it.
   He cries.
Honor demands a fight.
taunting , shoving,
I hit the kid in the nose and it bleeds. Crying he runs home.
                                                           ­                                   (and I feel a glory Alexander would envy.)
"FELIX, COME HOME FOR LUNCH"
                                                    (5 minutes to devour a bologna sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk)
then ****** into round two. this time hide-and-seek and she . .
                                                                ­                      (the new girl ; corn-silk hair and eyes that . . ??
so i'm "it"
but even the "little" kids are getting Home
      ( i am way out left      
                                                      ­                                      because i know . . .)

- suddenly - 
 she makes a deerlike dash for home, but i am ready,
and like a javelin
appear between her and Home.
"you're out"
as  my hand grasps her shoulder.

                        e v e r y  m o l e c u l e  o f   m y  f l e s h  
                                                             ­                                    !ignites!
                                                                ­                                                                a­nd  i  feel as a god)

The game is over.  Scott, Ricky and I spend an hour tricking the"little" kids into sitting in piles of dog ****.
Suppertime and we are called home.

years have come and gone,
still i remember those summers.
with Scott and Ricky.
and  the  heady . . .
                 . . .dizzying
                breathless . . .
                 . . . bliss
of
      p
          l
              a
                   y. . .!

Sometimes . . . from time to time
I also remember the girl -
                                                                ­                     *(and I still feel a tingle in my right hand.)

— The End —