by Cole McNamara / perilpoet

I miss the past pinecone wars of fall.
Sidestepping solid spikey green grenades
to avoid the aching welts that followed.

We would dumpster dive in spring
to explore the tantalizing treasures
that tickle our innocent imaginations.

I miss the mighty magic wars of summer.
Spitting shards of ice and flashes of flame
from wooden wands and staves of stick

We would hole up and hibernate in winter
to not actually sleep, but to pull all-nighters 
and play pokemon; eagerly awaiting tomorrow. 

We were the Culdesac crew.
We thought we'd live forever. 

If you like this piece, you might also enjoy:

• You Are Not Alone — a Hearth poem reminding you that idols, strangers, and your own family are tired too, and you still have more life left in you.
• This Land Was Made For You and Me — a Ruin poem that twists a familiar patriotic refrain into a sharp critique of pied politicians, hollow patriotism, and a country claimed by ego.