In my feral youth
I prowled unleashed
Climbed trees the size of skyscrapers
If a branch snapped I’d grab another on the way down
Not caring about the gravity of the situation
Rules only applied until we were out of sight
Property was a vague concept trumped by finder’s keepers
We weren’t afraid to use our fists in my feral youth
Trading body blows and hammerlocks fearlessly
We wore black eyes and fat lips instead of bling
In the summer I’d walk barefoot
Tom Sawyering along the riverbank
Sliding into swimming holes like bright eyed otters
Letting water run off my back in the sun
While the clean breeze of those innocent days
Was all the towel required
In my feral youth play was never supervised
Since that wouldn’t be play
Instead we’d stretch envelopes and deconstruct boxes
Aim our bows at clouds instead of targets
Playing chicken when the arrows plunged back from dot to danger
Prohibitions became challenges
Spot quizzes
So we’d incinerate aerosol cans for explosive delight
Steal cigarettes to smoke in treehouses
Pepper our conversations with salty wit
We bent, folded and mutilated
Rooted for underdogs
Cheered the counterculture
Waited expectantly for the revolution
Playing three chord rock songs on tinny transistor radios
Knowing that our moment was here
Oysterworld ripe
David Trudel © 2013
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