ghosts of summer
give me back
the smack of wiffleball bat
on wiffleball
the home run kings of cul de sacs
surrounding duplex houses
playing 10-run rule
or until it was all decided
when the wiffleball went rolling down the sewer
give me back
playing nerf football in the shade
with concrete gods
making star wars action figure plots
right out of the humid, sweltering air
the sun-sick joy of evermore romance
that wouldn’t last a week
trading baseball cards on front porches
like sweaty stock brokers fearing a crash
those suburban kids
those suburban girls
those ghosts of summer
playing tag with the streetlights and fireflies
some of whom have died too young
some of whom have lived
to grow as gray as i
oh, give me back that freedom
of faux innocence and blissful indecision
you petrifying wretch of time.
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Oh yes, give us back those days.
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