November 18, 2007
The mother shouted warnings over her shoulder
Head within the dryer drum
Keys snatched up like jacks
From the Formica counter top

He is too old for jacks
Or his mothers warnings

He thinks he’s immortal
She sighs to the argyle sock
Clinging to the back of the dyer
They all think they’ll live forever

He is too old for limits
And apple juice

Walking he was a man
Gripping the clutch he is a God

He doesn’t remember ever being a boy

As he gains speed he can see his Godly glow increase
And distracted by the pure light
Spilling from the rip in left nike
He spun out towards the wall

As his life played out before him
He remembered being a boy
And remembered how short his time as a man had been
And remembered that he had become a God so recently
It couldn’t yet be a memory

And that is why he cried

After the teddy bears rotted in the rain
And bits of shocking pink poster board
No longer lined the road
He was almost forgotten

His name is scrawled across the brick face
And parents point
And caution their teenage Gods
You’re not immortal you know

No, they quietly whisper
But he is

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