We were hot pants,
hip huggers, purple velvet
“Smoke on the Water and Fire in the Sky”
We were truants changing into jeans and cropped t-shirts
in the copse of dogwoods in Mort Jacobs Park
slathering on Coppertone making our way
thumbs out to Northwest Plaza in the heat in the humidity
to splash in fountains push strange boys to the brink
their scent Gandalf and Aragorn and Ent
We were junior high, we could have said no:
babies, drinking, drugs; we could have all gone on to high school,
our counselors advising us on colleges, SATs,
student loans, someone somewhere could have
commented, shown us a way out of our bruises,
broken psyches, bad choices
Instead of light grey Mourning Doves our soft calls laments
we could have all become Fire-tufted Barbets our striking
plumage green with bits of red, blue and yellow
our voices the spirited song of cicadas