In her dust we played kick the can
vainly hoping we could hide
behind her ample girth
palms on her flaky skin
for support and balance.
Curled at her feet
I sobbed lamenting the lie
"Your words will never hurt me"
her brown mass
listening and present.
She dropped a prickly gumball
bouncing my self pity
into a smile and a scheme
those balls became ammo
hurled at that meany with abandon.
In her coolness
caressed by her breeze
we strained our limbs on her's,
confident in the strength
she stretched into our little lives.
One summer I trekked back
for a splash of her joy
but in her space a home
children with automated toys
and no tree for kick the can.
