A BOY'S SUMMER

It was not on any calendar But there was a boy's season. It was a time for plump blackberries, Picked and eaten, unwashed, while on the move, The wind and waves providing the beat, The Sun the heat, As a boy's life moved beside, And among, The roar and crash of air and surf, And the calls of unseen birds. It was the time for bare feet on hot sand, And a sidekick A crazy Irish Setter named Sean, Following a trail with his head Stuck beneath the water, Tracking a retreating crab who, I am sure, Thought aliens had landed. A time for thoughtless boys with BB guns And hapless birds and lizards, Who never returned home In those days Before responsibility was learned, And life fully understood. It was a time for trying original sins, And lying about them, To parents...and one another. It was the time to sit Swaying in a tree near the beach Smoking cigarettes... Debating knowledgeably about The relative merits of Camels, Lucky Strikes, Winstons, Marlboros ...And the ones with menthol Which would freeze your lungs... As we watched sailboats coast Across an impossibly blue bay. It was a time to wade carefully Along the edge of old warehouse piers Which poked in a line above the water Looking like the blackened stumps of teeth Of some unknown beast, Placing one foot carefully at a time Checking the shallow water for sign Of a stingray hiding beneath the sand Waiting to whip its barb into flesh Causing pain as yet unknown or understood. We waded towards the channel dredged For boats moored beside the bayou bridge In hopes of catching the biggest catfish ever! It was the hunt that counted, The adventure not the end. That's all that really matters When it's a boy's season. by Donovan Baldwin Jun 29, 2013