Summer of broken rules

smashing glass and jumping in pools

no matter which backyard you choose

eating from fridges, cooking on stoves

blindfold pinning a map to see where to go.

 

Singing in concert halls too good for you

never once worried you’re out of tune

dancing atop the highest height

wobbling, near the edge, at night

never having the slightest fright.

 

Walking on the railroad tracks

daring life till near-train attacks

still, press on and dodge some cars

jumping roof to roof, under stars.

 

Only way to stop this mess

mother’s holler from home address

then freeze, and hang your head so low

there’s only one right way to go.

 

Redaction, they said

to this I dare, instead

like my poem so much

no words shall I touch.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 9-2-2023

(No words were harmed in the non-redaction of this poetry.)