the other boy in the holler was free

he ate raw hotdogs from the refrigerator

screamed NO at the top of his softened goose down lungs

Sliced a stripe down the drive way with his bicycle


while up top my bones rattled with trepidation

I cried like the ice cream pouring down my small hands

so afraid be sticky, fearful to shout NO

his world was the wind and mine was the root cellar


I was prepared for long winters, wrapping my feet

he was hungry for adventure, cutting his teeth

he used up all his life in thirty sun circles

and I read the millionth vague obituary


I attended the pain, avoided the funerals

hollers are eat up with invisible missiles