August 2008

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,

Little

beasts

to catch the prey

before the sun 

Was 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. 

Bus Ride 

Navy blue 

Upholstery 

With neon orange 

and green 

accents

Pulled over  

Seats 

Itchy and upright 

Yet time feels 

Fluid

or transcendental in them.

My body shifts

Between the two realms 

As We move

The cream orange sky

Saddens 

To dark indigo 

Corn fields morph

Into 

A city 

Their lush husks 

Now skyscrapers 

We have reached our destination.