orange plastic, yellow stripes, soft foam darts, denim, sweats, striped swishy pants
fresh hair cuts, jackets abandoned
softer sound of bird song than will be heard when pants are traded for shorts, sweatshirts for short sleeves
sun out, full, warming, frantic shouts explaining important matters of who’s in, who’s out, who’s tripped over their sneakers and now sits in the damp grass all flecked with mud and tan from winters blanket
warmer on the front step than in the living room where windows are open, curtains and wall calenders waving, papers knocked under the tables they fell from
behind that tall worn gray wooden fence a sharp yelp from four legs and a furry face
two boys drink soda, two reload, one shoots straight up, neck bent, eyes skyward watching his treasure rise and fall
they know the dance
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