A Sound That We

Time came for then golden kids to cry, boohoo, end of sunset cracked doors and warm mother light poured over mac and cheese tables, small swollen wooden fences humid mumblings the play-doh floors kitchen flour and mosquitoes the baseballs rest for a moment, concerned with hot dog or popcorn, jolly rancher stuck to the side of your mouth and then, quietly the organ begins. In the smallish stands we sucked on cokes pulling at candy straws and knowing we'd go on forever, on running from junk yard dogs and the bigger boys, plopped on a carpet and the air conditioner crankin' snowflakes, eternal drip of damp towels over the baked sidewalks, indian feet all canyons and caves as the gravel goes on, make way for the bumblebees caught in plastic bags, pulled apart and pursued, wet mist of spray bottles and flashlights, always, always. Stuffed socks full of the glow and went on harassing doorsteps when the air cooled, spinning purple bat filled sky silhouette trees dizzy over the front lawn, cardboard stained green and in the snow, garbage pail tops or just mittens thrown to the wind. Sandy tie-dye in the photograph with glasses, a peace sign, yes, and we sat by the cannons. All hearts full of fear but she flirted all the same, and the crescent moon glittered on hidden in a drawer, except when held up to the real thing by window, window view of your window, wondering about the real thing. Dreaming, mumbling, I would ask you - "... could you just - roll over? Roll over my way."

- San Fransisco