It was behind St. Joseph\u2019s, across an open field, hay and earth,
\nThe last traces of green gone, poised toward the vernal equinox.<\/p>\n
We jumped the fence, lugging a six-pack of Schmidts and a pipe,
\nA small bag with something, maybe hash or Thai Sticks or the like.<\/p>\n
My heavy coat and construction boots (the original Doc Martens)
\nMade the climb arduous, my frosty breath smoking the fence links.<\/p>\n
Once inside, we padded hard earth silently beckoning the woods
\nBut we stopped short of the line of its entry, dark and foreboding.<\/p>\n
There we found a rock or a wooden crate I imagine 40 years later;
\nWe were only 15 and 17 but our imaginations were medieval, dark.<\/p>\n
Our laughter echoed midway between the shadows of forest and
\nTombstones, an open field bordering pine trees and the cemetery.<\/p>\n
In our inebriation, we told stories and giggled tirelessly, of Mordar
\nAnd the one true ring, borne by a stranger and thief; we spoke Elf.<\/p>\n
When the laughter turned fear, our hilarity distorted into wild flame
\nOf lying youth, blood pumping black hash and cheap beer illusion.<\/p>\n
We fled like bandits past Gollum and ghosts, teen-age and death,
\nFlung over metal chains clanging on that chill, October night\u2019s end.<\/p>\n
The 31st, in fact, all Hollow\u2019s Eve, we, two time leapers in flight,
\nMemorized the words emblazoned on our half-baked wild minds.<\/p>\n
Like wind we inscribed air with our fright, leaping child over adult,
\nWe two, Puerto Rican-Mexican-Irish and Russian-Rumanian-Jew.<\/p>\n
Though you stayed in New York, and I moved across the nation, \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0our frozen fingers touch in dreamless daymares of loss and time.<\/p>\n
We chuckle yet, our minds\u2019 eyes gleaming with the thrill of it then
\nAs we dream the deceit of a linear past; I know you’re with me still.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It was behind St. Joseph\u2019s, across an open field, hay and earth, The last traces of green gone, poised toward the vernal equinox. We jumped the fence, lugging a six-pack of Schmidts and a pipe, A small bag with something, maybe hash or Thai Sticks…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":196,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,441],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-34320","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-poetry-prompt-responses"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34320","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/196"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=34320"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34320\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":34408,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34320\/revisions\/34408"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=34320"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=34320"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=34320"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}