I.
Games Begin
This is the place
That changes every day.
No one scene is ordinary.
Just us,
Picking red, squishy berries
And mixing them with crunchy leaves,
Climbing the ghostly trees’ limbs
To stay hidden from the uninvited,
Collecting sticks
Attempting to make a
Wild fire,
Screaming “You’re it!”
When the big rubber
Ball smacks skin,
Stinging knees from the Hydrogen Peroxide
That claims to help and
Realizing for the first time
He’s a boy.

Then the games grow up.
Now it’s “You’re out!”
And the teams are competitive
And the girls get picked last
And the older ones get taken
By the yellow bus.
Now they have chores to do,
The homework involves calculators,
And the T.V. is no longer Disney Channel.
Now it’s video games
And computer sites.
Now the boy is the boy
And the girl is the girl
And a smile means
So much more.

Then they grow up and the games whither.
Now it’s “I can’t right now”
And there are hours of homework
And the cars get home
And the nights are later
But not with glowing stars.
Now the boy is a young man
And the girl is a young lady,
A lady who can be
Seen going off to school
Drinking coffee or
Shooting hoops with
A man who can
Only remember being
A boy.
II.
Play on
do you remember
the mixed berries and crumpled leaves
pretending we survived off of the land?
can you smell ashes
as we ignite our findings with a magnifying glass
waiting as long as was needed?
feel exhaustion
as the rubber ball smacks you
and listen as I exclaim, “You’re it!”
please tell me you can still see it.
our many saturday mornings spent
with sun touched skin and knocks on doors.
please tell me you can still hear it.
the unknowing sounds of the outdoors daring
to be a threat to us.
please tell me you can still understand it.
living in the woods behind your house
and never coming in.
don’t forget to tag me back and
let the game keep going.
just let us keep going.


III.
Leaving the Game Behind
Let’s not call it an ending
Those involve tears and goodbyes
Neither is desired for this
Just watch as memories pass
Through the eyes of the seeing.
There’s that tree where the berries
Used to grow.
Our ball now lies deflated
in a pile
Labeled trash.
The old house with the
Backyard creek now
Resides a young couple
with infants.
The leaves have started to
Change and crumple.
The neighbors greet naturally
Thinking of us nothing but strangers
Not knowing that this was
Mine and yours.
It’s not an ending
That’s not how I see it.
Look at it as the
Best times of our lives.
Do that for me please.
?