When
my dad quit
Being
the cartographer
For
the aerial survey company
And
got the State job
Doing
water resource management
We
moved to Tempe as well
To
make the commute into Phoenix
A
little easier
And to finally get out of Mesa
I
landed in a new school
A
new church
And
a gang of new friends
It
just so happened
There
was a massive quantity
Of
eleven year old boys
And
I was just one more in the crew
Which
meant no special treatment
Either
negative or positive
By
the time sixth grade came up
I
was in with the smart kids
Got
bused to the gifted program
Every
week or so
But
we had fun everywhere
Writing
stories in creative writing
Trying
to outdo each other
One
more outlandish than the other
Would
I write about Horace
The
headless hot dog
That
my dad use to spin tells of?
No,
I would forge my own path
It
was “The Toenail that Ate Chicago”
That
was my opus of the era
Recess
was more of the same
Coming
up with variations
On
a theme of tag
From
line to robot to swarm
Each
with a complex set
Of
rules and expectations
Perfectly
understood
And
justly self-governed
By
all the eager participants
Each
day began
Precisely
where the other ended
Games
changed at correct intervals
We
the game masters
Responsible
to keep things fresh
Took
our role seriously
Never
let the game run stale
Boredom
assaulted
With
the intensity of war
The
passion of religion
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