Sleepover 2011
2020-12-14

***

her backyard was a battle field
where she taught me how to wield
a million weapons, imaginary, unseen,
on the violent stage of a trampoline

donning goggles, head dunked in a pail,
barely enough time to hold my breath
as I gazed around, lungs jumping,
body convinced of imminent death

the carpet of that living room
was a boundless field, like on that long-ago childhood day
long before we had met, Father and I at the trainfield,
I threatening to run away

infinite possibilities
in the absence of the sun,
trying to sleep in a forgotten corner
or playing games, voices softer than a soft hum

all the challenge, the excitement,
in managing to avoid
the wrath of her parents,
lest they burst a hemorrhoid

I buried myself in galaxies,
I danced among the stars,
although, since it was *her* game cartridge,
I never got very far

come the next morning, at home,
I'd collapse and sleep far past noon
in wait for the next time
I could wave hi at the moon

***

CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
