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Boy Scout
He raced confidently forward.
The adults seemed indifferent.
I had tripped and the hard fall
knocked me unconscious.
He turned me over and grabbed
the belt around my waist.
With man-strength he lifted me,
forcing air into my lungs.
I stood, wiping dirt from my face
and dusting off my clothing.
I dabbed a few bleeding scratches
And shoved my hair behind my ears.
The adults went about the chores
they’d been performing.
I was seven. He was twelve.
My hero. My brother.
Copyright ©
Linda Fowler
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