I remember
three tiers of kids:
the teens, not us,
the big kids, us,
the little kids, younger sisters, brothers.
the older, as groups,
always trying to ditch the younger,
but as individuals
always up to playing
with anyone at all
willow tree forts
where grownups can’t see us
stealing carrots from gardens
like rabbits
that one time, trapped
caught
Terabithia recreated
with twigs and carpet remnants
then stealing away
to the abandoned farm
through corn fields
finding unending treasure
in ruin
demanding
go out again!
to our parents
so our babysitters
who came on horseback
would bring us their horses to ride
pure suburban nirvana
Donkey Kong at Ritchie’s
and learning that he liked me
through the awkward gift
of a pen
with all the letters carved off
except for one R
one L
and an and
left between them
sadly
I liked Kevin
