Concrete scraped

skin and burgundy 

scabs 

Embellished our knees.

Viridescent stains

accented our indigo shorts and 

Plagued 

Our mothers. 

Mud 

Caked 

into the creases

of our palms,

Like skinny trails on a map. 

We had to be tenacious,

small beasts

to catch our pray

before the sun 

Went down. 

Eight Rollie Pollies 

Held 

hostage 

In a dixie cup. 

We reigned over these creatures.

       Something small 

In a world 

So much bigger than us.