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We were armed at fourteen with BB guns
and reckless abandon.
So started many of our cousinly adventures.

Central Utah has hot, hot summers
and little else going for it.
We took to the sage in shorts and t-shirts
begging the tics to climb aboard.
Lyme disease? 
For suckers by suckers.

By and large our hikes were aimless.
We’d shoot lizards if we could…
or any glass objects that were lying around
if we couldn’t.

A fire was needed
in the desert heat
in the middle of the day
because we had a string of fire crackers
and a shortage of common sense.

There was an abundance of combustibles
and we chose the dried up cow pies…
less poop for the dog to eat.
We stacked a few into a pile
then lit it up.

They were Black Cats…
or possibly Lady Fingers.
In either case, they were lame
one at a time.
So we threw them all in at once.

Did you know burning cow manure
and fire crackers
make babies?
Flying, fiery babies of death
with an insatiable appetite
for combustibles.

Neither did we.

We stomped their nest.
Tried to bury it.
We weren’t dummies,
(I know what you’re thinking)
we had built close to water.
So we tried some mud.

Still the babies hatched.
So violently
so noisily
so fire-erly
that we decided it was time to run.

If the world was going up in flames…
we weren’t sticking around. 
Armed with BB guns,
we were desert deserters.
We didn’t get far before 
the hatching ended.

It turns out
flying, fiery babies of death
have a very high mortality rate
or a very short life span.
We knew it all along…
hell spawn can’t survive here
even in the desert
it’s too cold.

To this very day,
I thank the heavens
that we were only fourteen
and hadn’t had enough money
for more than one string of Black Cats…
or possibly Lady Fingers.

05/08/15

*true story, and I'm happy to still be around to tell it, haha.
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