We were 50’s latch-key kids, confined
to the house after school, sustained  

on Mallomars, Ritz and Velveeta,
Howdy Doody and the Mickey Mouse Club.  

Hungry for adventure, we claimed
a New World on the path to school, christened  

it Spooky Driveway, our secret forest
of dense weeds, junk trees, mysterious sounds,  

and at the dead end, a dark and thorny thicket
of scrapped furniture and broken bottles.  

We would imagine animals or intruders,
hoot and shriek and spook each other  

as best we could, run out breathing hard
into our safe post-war neighborhood.  

Lessons on growing up female ended
these jaunts.  Lessons that conjured  

kidnappers and rapists behind every tree,
in every dark place.  We thought we had a handle 

til the subway ride when the penis in the parted
trenchcoat set us running and screaming like kids.