We the Kids

Some children fly on tire swings
When they’re not stuck in the mud
Giving each other haribo rings and
Trying to decide how far to run away
From the can, the only salvation in this
land is that you have one chance to save
them all

knee scraps and gravelled hands, bloody
noses and wild dancing around the mini
bonfire, the shadows of Indians reach around
the flame, howling their names at the cowboys
waiting at the end of the lane, gun holstered but
minds quick as lighting, this place isn’t big enough
for the both of you

frightened of tall trees looming, covered in moss,
how nimble the others are, snapping twigs and
broken bones, laughter is easy and floats like the
clouds, you can see turtles and giraffes in the sky,
and don’t hide your pride, even if they can’t see
the four legs and long neck of the little guy, and
arguments are over kittens or puppies

and no one ever lets that go, but you wouldn’t
know that, when you’re that small and the
world is so big, you’d give anything now to be
back at those swings, wind through your hair
and no ground at your feet, some children fly
on tire swings, but we,

we
fly
on
m   e   m  o  r  i  e  s

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