Run, Kid
an ode to reservation boys
Run, Kid Wearing supermarket shoes and old clothes, we sprinted through the reservation dirt and drank cold water through a garden hose when the dust made deserts of our throats. In summertime, we removed our T-shirts, climbed the trees, and shouted dirty jokes from pine to pine. One day, a branch broke and Arthur fell. He couldn’t fly. He was no bird. But he somehow grabbed the tree and slowed his descent. The rough bark tore a ragged road down his ribs and chest. “It hurts, it hurts,” he said. But, immediately after his body and soul were healed, he resumed living by warrior-code. We attacked the world with merry and mirth. We shot imaginary arrows from broke-stick bows and ran all brown and beautiful and bold. We rebelled against human, animal, and earth. We ran until the sweat made salt of our clothes then we drank cold water through a garden hose.
What a beautiful villanelle!!! This poem could teach the concept of enjambment as it does it so well! Thanks for writing and sharing!
Beautiful, and I can smell the pine forest and taste the rubbery water from the hose.