Sun City, California

Childhood was kissing frogs on a Sunday afternoon
And swinging from the jungle gym in the cool summer evenings,
Bee stings or cuts from rocks left skin red, bruised and tough.
Mom would complain because socks were always ruined
After hours were spent jumping in mud puddles after a storm,
The stains setting as we looked at the clouds from the driveway.

Or maybe the dog could pull us in the wagon
Turning sharply around the curves of the neighborhood,
The wheels wavering and wiggling from the speed.
My room was a shade of blue, the kind that held the sky,
And mom had painted a white picket fence along the bottom
Complete with flowers, grass, and a few specially painted butterflies.

The most important responsibility I had was be in by dark
When the sun would fall behind Mrs. Dallas’ house
And the hot day would become soft.
I’d say bye to her and Clarissa and Billy
Promising to play again tomorrow, first thing,
It was my brother’s surprise birthday party anyway.