The Monkey Trail

We'd leave just after breakfast play hard all day there were no cell phones or play dates we simply gathered up the mates took off down the monkey trail ran wild in the thistle fields chased flyballs on the diamond collected pop bottles for a nickel a piece lunch was gulps of warm hose water a palm filled with stolen plumbs off again to the train trestle slinging rocks at muddy beer bottles flattening pennies on the rails there were no clocks to tug at our tails. Sunset was the cue for us to move along 5 speed banana bikes cracking the trail in the half light mad little monkeys and scratching at our minds armed with leather mits and Louisville slugger bats but the ogres and perverts never dare touch us we were trail toughened little bucks the warm hose water didn't kill we were dirty little dust devils on a streak of good luck