I sit here and read the signatures
on an elevated plaster cast
that supports a splintered tibia,
remembering the ill advised
reason for its creation.
As a young, inconsiderate boy
the ant hills were the most fun.
A stick or a kick delivered
a few minutes of amusement,
watching those little critters
rebuild the farm.
The little blue fallen eggs
became yellow window art.
You could get a new free bunny
after chasing off mama.
Ground squirrels
and water hoses,
what fun.
The late morning air
was so thick
it was like trying to
breathe pudding.
The storm left little
of Mother Nature’s
or man’s building materials,
except for the Elm
and the lone blue egg and nest
lying in its now partial shade.
My epiphany drove me
up the tree with egg and nest,
my atonement more solid
than the trusted branch.
I sit here and read
the signatures
and watch the ants
rebuild the farm.
What made childhood so great? All the things we did before we found out about being guilty! ! Loved this one for its clear look back.
Rusty, this is one of your best poems ever! ! ! ! It made me feel so many different emotions. It also made me cry. Very, very, very effective. Wonderful piece, my friend.
really like this one, Rusty. A boy's life is great fun, ain't it? sighhh.... -chuck
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Perfectly written. You took me right back to my early youth...at the time, it was broken wrist. A 10.