Today's prompt asked us to go back to when we were eight years old.
When I was Eight
Neighborhood kids
ponied up
legs thrown over Schwinn steeds
Grabbed stick rifles
and shiny toy six-shooters
Then rode hard
to the end of Mooberry
Street.
In that empty lot of rutted
paths,
Ohio burdock our
tumbleweed,
white vs. black hats played
out
Choosing sides
shooting and dodging
dying and surviving
practicing right and wrong
Lessons
preparing us for life.
You portrayed them with the wonder they deserve.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Ron. xoA
DeleteOh what a wonderful snapshot! :)
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Thanks, Shah. xoA
DeleteYou took me back to my own youth. When I was a girl, my dad fashioned a rifle for me from wood. Though I grew up alone in the country, somehow I still managed to slip into that wonderful imaginary world. Thank you for the trip down memory lane.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad my poem could do that for you, Steph. Thanks for sharing your story, too. xoA
DeleteThis may be my favorite of your poems thus far...I love the Schwin steeds and it is such a lovely and nostalgic glance back, made me smile...and the wrap-up was very nice. Loved it!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Anna. I'm glad you liked it. xoA
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