Those were spare mornings of boundless energy
Skipped breakfasts, and hardly enough clothing
To layer myself against the sky, and its endless
blue bending roll with the black outside of it.
Stepping on nails, and turning trash into play
The neighborhood boys pick sides, draw straws
Pile up ammo, rocks, shingles, glass, cuss words
and premature fruit to hurl at one another 'till dark.
Or blood... Curiosity killed the cat, but 'twas the
rats that brought it back. There are only so many
holes to dig in a Summer. Only so many elbows and
knees to scab before it's time to eat, and forget.
But that was the Summer I got my first pair of boots
and started smoking in the orange groves with the
older boys in Ozzy shirts. That was also the year my
friend fell out of the tree house and never walked again.
Lying there like a small bird that had just flown into a window
We drew a tight circle around him, then numbly,
We went home having earned nothing.
Author notes
#2c
Written April 19th, 2004
In a list
A contest entry
- Got 5 Choices! by dontunderstand.
375 points, ended May 5, 2005, 5 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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O wow this is so sad.
It's really good though. thanks for entering and good luck 
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good write
wish u luc 4 the contest
lekha
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Because... I'm... So nude?
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ya why wouldnt i?
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You think so?
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very nice heh keep it up!!!!!
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yeah i really liked this. it reminds me of stories too that little girls get up to but not as horrific as little boys in the old days anyways. i remeber laughing at ann marie when she couldnt wait to pee any longer and it all shot out of her sideways and she was like a walking fountain. then none of us would go anywhere near her. boys are cruel and horrible i am glad you reminded me to keep away from them. it must be so boring to be a man after being a cruel little boy...is it? i love it and the sunny visuals....arent we all so heartless really even when we are grown up we have to be cruel or on anti depressants...or drunk or trying out some other form of escape ...we are all so fucking bored and we dont even know it
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I think above all, you see the undertones and overtones of this piece, it fits bush, osama, and me and you, it's about boys. Boys can be cruel.
Edited on Apr 20, 3:03 p.m. because ''. -
Gospel brother, I'm with you. I broke everything twice, and we ran hard
we derailed a train once, and another time my buddy got drunk and while he was sleeping we pushed his car onto the railroad tracks, it was an omni... it exploded and one of the tires literally blew off, on fire, rolled down the street into old man smith's backyard, lighting it and the house on fire, but I swear to god we watched that tire roll down the street and through a field a good quarter mile, and I knew... I knew we were in big fucking trouble. yeah, I'm sure we both got stories for days,
drownings, fuckings, druggings, death, babies, and church all in a week with a little goolash and a crippling cold winter, brings out the best in people.
Edited on Apr 20, 3:01 p.m. because ''. -
I remember breaking glass, painting shit, running through yards and giving some old fuck the finger and telling to go fist his mother, riding the bus into the wrong neighborhood, my mom becoming irate. the cops, my parents' divorce, throwing rocks at the 7-11, or cherries. heaving bricks at cars in the parking lots...it is a wonder my Dad did not beat me to death, and he would have...
one time i threw this huge iron spring/coil at the train when it was going by and it bounced back hard and nearly crippled me for life, and my brothers and friends just laughing their fucking asses off. I intend to write a poem about being busted for shoplifting when i was 5. I never see kids running the neigborhoods like we used to. It is a miracle that I am still alive.
Edited on Apr 20, 2:46 p.m. because ''. -
Lots of strong emotion in this one. Reminds me of the summer my brother and his friends were playing football in the front yard, they threw the ball so far and this kid went out in the street to catch it and BAMM he got hit by a car. I can't even remember the kids name. I don't recall anyone going in the ambulance with the kid. And if memory serves correct, the boys just kept playing football. Crazy?! Aw what the hell does a stupid little sister know anyhow?
Childhood memories when summer seems too long, until you use it all up.
*stomps -
The eagerness to get out and play, that you convey in the first stanza here, reminds me of my own two sons. Couldn’t careless about food or warmth, just so long as there’s good playing to be done. But woe betide the little buggers if I catch ‘em throwing rocks & broken glass!!
This was an evocative and enjoyable read. The end was sad, but that added to the authenticity of it. We all have good and bad memories of childhood. I like this a lot!
~ Louise -
this is a wonderful write! kept me interested from begining to end and i agree with the other comment about the Henry Miller story so true... lol ur words were very powerful keep up the great work!
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Kept me captured from beginning till end. I like your desciptive words.. great Write!
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Twist at the end, kind of, the poem seemed to have a foreboding feel to it ..like the oncoming of childhood lost. Did you mean orange groves and not orange grooves? Hmm, if it's a true story ..I'm guessing you learned a lot that summer.
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What are you up to?
Edited on Apr 19, 1:38 p.m. because ''. -
great. reads like a Henry Miller story, remember the one where he and his friends killed a boy with a stone, and then went home to eat the buttered bread that never tasted better?
This one has a similar impact. great piece.
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