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