My foot kicked a random can
on the sidewalk.
My old mind filled it with gravel
and threw me back to my neighborhood alley
and my 11 year old self.
Stacked the cans, knocked them down,
ran back to our team with hilarity.
Kick The Can for hours
into the fading dusk because TV
and video games did not exist.
Shot hoops,
cold or shine,
on our garage driveway court
till all hours.
Played Wiffle ball
at the American Legion
gravel field,
more important than
the Majors.
Hid atop
the garage roof
to shoot BB guns
at passing cars,
the irate drivers
unable to find
our hidden selves.
Is that world really gone?
Originally published in Medusa's Kitchen