Seven

Bobby had more GI Joes. His gear included camouflage
oil paint that we'd smear all over our faces and laugh.

Cobra infantry covered a full square of the concrete drive,
black and blue, ready to stomp behind their commander.

He was fair and his freckles stood out
on the bridge of his nose like milk chocolate chips.
The beetles squirmed over each other in bags
that hung from the sapling maples marking the front.
A hornet buzzed in over our heads, swooping in on us
for the occasional lop-sided recon as we set up for battle.

Bobby pushed his yellow-white bangs
off of his sweaty pink forehead
and raised his index finger to the sky.

Scarlett smothered in my fist before I set her free;
she flew too close to the sun without swivel grip.

Some things never change.

~*~

~mvh