Dark red drops leaked from my thigh,
As we crossed the barbed-wire fences.
Least of my worries grinning,
Scorching my fingertips,
When lighting the brown paper bags on doorsteps.
Thorns and branches scraping my face
As we darted through the deep dark woods.
Hysterical yelling is all we heard,
If not counting the loud thud coming from our chests.
Picking the locks was the hardest part,
Nothing like success.
Occasionally a dog
Digging its jagged teeth into our tense ankles.
Sometimes an alarm,
Nothing like police sirens.
Oh, that adrenaline rush.
That was enough,
As I told my boys,
Letting the kid retrieve air from the toilet.
He deserved it,
They all did,
Just as we did.
Sitting in the backseat of a white and black Crown Vic,
Still laughing.
Trying our bests to give each other high-fives –
What a task in handcuffs.
As we crossed the barbed-wire fences.
Least of my worries grinning,
Scorching my fingertips,
When lighting the brown paper bags on doorsteps.
Thorns and branches scraping my face
As we darted through the deep dark woods.
Hysterical yelling is all we heard,
If not counting the loud thud coming from our chests.
Picking the locks was the hardest part,
Nothing like success.
Occasionally a dog
Digging its jagged teeth into our tense ankles.
Sometimes an alarm,
Nothing like police sirens.
Oh, that adrenaline rush.
That was enough,
As I told my boys,
Letting the kid retrieve air from the toilet.
He deserved it,
They all did,
Just as we did.
Sitting in the backseat of a white and black Crown Vic,
Still laughing.
Trying our bests to give each other high-fives –
What a task in handcuffs.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.



Grace B.
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