Come On
Writing with the pen from driver’s ed, 5 months old,
That was supposed to encourage them to take notes,
She jots down some words to remember with.
After the drive to the store and back
She stopped at the park where she had grown up
Down the street from where she used to live
She explored some of the memories of the now fallen hometown
Its green and dirty metal trash barrels
Spilt out the desperation of the drunks sleeping on the splintered wooden benches
The paint of the gazebo dulled
And the pond where she used to catch tadpoles with an assortment of 6 year olds
Now drained to reveal Burger King bags from across the street
And brown beer bottles from any one of the multitude of liquor stores within a 10-mile radius.
A bully’s twin from 7 years ago rode by on a bike
With a younger sibling clinging to her back.
It was the one that called her that “b” word
Because she had looked at her,
Who then threatened her younger friend
When she made a face
They knew enough to run away when
The bully stood up
Yelling, “Come on!
Come on…”
She turned off the path
And climbed a hill in the back of the park that ran along the black river
She looked out across the swings and weeping willows
And continued along into the sight of some teenagers
Sitting sullenly on the grass surrounding the playground.
She quickly turned and crossed her arms
Not ready to be seen in her current state
Afraid that they would see through her adult, respectful expression
That even she didn’t believe.
Then, noticing the circumstance of her posture,
And all that it could imply,
Turned back again onto her original route
And descended from the hill, walking down without making eye contact
Until her back was turned to them