44 lines
1,023 B
Text
44 lines
1,023 B
Text
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Sleepover 2011
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2020-12-14
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***
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her backyard was a battle field
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where she taught me how to wield
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a million weapons, imaginary, unseen,
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on the violent stage of a trampoline
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donning goggles, head dunked in a pail,
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barely enough time to hold my breath
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as I gazed around, lungs jumping,
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body convinced of imminent death
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the carpet of that living room
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was a boundless field, like on that long-ago childhood day
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long before we had met, Father and I at the trainfield,
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I threatening to run away
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infinite possibilities
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in the absence of the sun,
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trying to sleep in a forgotten corner
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or playing games, voices softer than a soft hum
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all the challenge, the excitement,
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in managing to avoid
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the wrath of her parents,
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lest they burst a hemorrhoid
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I buried myself in galaxies,
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I danced among the stars,
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although, since it was *her* game cartridge,
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I never got very far
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come the next morning, at home,
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I'd collapse and sleep far past noon
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in wait for the next time
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I could wave hi at the moon
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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