Be Home By Dark
Bicycle tires spinning, carefree with no helmet —
The nineteen-sixties, the neighborhood is our space.
In Summertime, the playground’s a haven with friends —
Sunny smiles, weaving potholders and lanyard lace.
We peers are miniatures — unpolished future selves —
Revolving at a mesmerizing merry-go-round pace.
Snowballs swinging at us as we run and laugh —
The boys have taken over the entire space.
We slide from trees, get stung, ride cycles without shoes.
The stars and the moon tap their watch — Mother’s chase.
9/28/2018
Silent One’s Lines of Ten
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