Email Poem

Your IP Address: 52.14.236.216
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
There’s one more thing, we are dead now. Says Boy 1.
No, I’m not dead. I was dead, but now I am just blood up. Boy 2 replies.
What is blood up? I ask. Boy 1 shrugs. But you are pushing the sun, he tells his friend.
Yes! His friend readily agrees. His voice gets louder. I am pushing the sun and I am asking HOW CAN I BE PUSHING THE SUN?” 

They are both really loud now, yelling about Freddie,
zombies, bone guys, Sharky Guy, and someone who must be 
the head evil guy, Candy Man. I do not watch these movies
or play these kind of video guys. They are on a roll, finishing
each other’s sentences.

They were killing us…
But we got back up, and I saved you….
Yeah, you saved me with an axe…

And it was bloody….
Yeah, really bloody.
BLOOD UP BLOODY.

One of these little guys is throwing the word CRAP into every other sentence.
The other little guy has not noticed. “They cut my hand off and my leg off…”
“And then you were heal’n…”
“Yeah, I was heal’n….”
'An I was dead, but I said crap and I got back up,"
'An you had a knife, and a gun."
"But candy man came over and said I'm gonna kill you,"
"But he killed your mama," and.
The story stops and they glare at each other.
A little shoulder rub. 
"Not your mama, someone else, some bad person,"
All gets forgiven more easily when you are six.

This little game-playing group session is the best I have ever seen these two get along. Arch enemies a few weeks ago, but kind of
friends now. 


"And my daddy went to jail."
"WITH MY DADDY! said in a delighted way.
"Yeah, with your daddy, and my uncle and candy man, and crap, some bad guys, that had guns and knives and stuff."
"Old guys, old mean guys, shacky guys."

I do not know what a shacky guy is, but would not interject for any reason, wanting to hear the rest of it.

"And I called 911, and I told them, crap, there are big monsters here,"
"Big damned monsters." Boy 2 is dancing around the toys, hopping on one foot now, he has circled Boy 1 and the toys at least sixteen times, as they are spouting this together-story.

Wait!" Boy 2 says, stopping for an instant. "Why would you call the cops?"
"Cause the Po-Po wants to come and kill them, and kill the bad guys, and..."
"Kill us?"

The story continues after this little discussion.  I listen silently, marveling at their story-telling prowess, and their new found best friend-ed-ness, made in the only room in the school building where Boy 1 and Boy 2 can freely use the words crap, knife, axe,Po-Po and damn.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required