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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