My 12-year-old pal in Camp Heaven
My swingset-pal
Trading fuzzy-headed Barbies and M&Ms
Licking peanut butter and fluff from spoons
and laughing at Joey DiBartoli two rows back with the buck teeth and messy hair.
I wrote you a letter
I knocked on your door
I sat on our swing
And I held a party for you.
My dear, my friend. My laughable-pal
Sleepovers and four-square and Mary Jane shoes
Giggling and crying and chasing lizards in pickle plants
and making faces at MPs and collecting pennies from roadsides.
You wrote me a goodbye
on nothing as you whisked your body some other place
or near, I don't know
where you live now, a place I cannot see
perhaps on the swingset, still?
No comments:
Post a Comment