Lemonade for a two cent stickly hand exchange of watered sugar and gum-encrusted coppers. and we were little children again when it came time for our naps

of kings and things and swans and swords

and little suns. Looking back

we were happy

alive

and all life.

No threats of war

of war

of bombs

of hunger

of death

except in our backyards

when we were brave soldiers quick to kill and easy to forgive. You're dead-

I shot YOU

No, you missed.

I'm going home.

And I kicked your soldiers

a little and gave you a penny when you cried to put under your pillow

for the good guy that

made dreams come true for another day.

And with my arm around your shoulder I began to tell you

my story as we walked home

through the vacant eyes of lots

where we had waged World Wars I, II, and III

all in a summer Saturday. "You see kid, he was really a king-though she didn't know it and you see she says to him-Come with me to find my brother and she

cries a little like girls do

and he looks at her for a long

time and says . . . ."

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