The Monkey Trail
We'd leave just after breakfast
Play hard all day
There were no cell phones or play dates
We would gather up our friends
take off down the monkey trail
running wild in the thistle fields
chased fly balls on the baseball diamond
collected pop bottles for a nickel a piece
lunch was gulps of warm hose water
a palm filled with stolen plums.
Then off to the train trestle
slinging rocks at muddy beer bottles
flattening pennies on the rails
there were no clocks to tug at our tails.
Dusk was the cue for us to move things along
5-speed banana bikes slicing the monkey trail in the half-light.
Mad little monkeys and scratching the back of our minds
The trail ogres and perverts never dare touch us.
We had the numbers and were armed with Louisville slugger bats.
We were trail-toughened little bucks
the warm hose water didn't kill us.
We were grimy little dust devils
on a lightning streak of good luck.
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