Erstwhile

Don't you remember the feel of your little feet on the wet cement around the pool? Don't you remember those warm, wet puddles near the pavement joints?

I can still feel the burning pang of water up my nose, and the hot, tacky feel of the brown paint from the concession stand's counter on my arms.

We looked like candy when we emerged from the water, and jumped back in before a single drop could differentiate itself from the rest, seeing if our waves could combine to spill over the wall.

Our bikes got stolen. And we threw rocks at the car windows in the junk yard. The dust in our lives was palpable. And so was the glory.



© 2005 George Czar