broom handle
darkness
all we needed in the Floyds’ backyard
on the suburban edge of the Pine Barrens, 1968
lightning bugs
reverse meteor shower
rising from earth
boys churning twilight
with vicious swooshing wood
a swipe
a click
a struck lightning bug hurtling
like a death comet
whipping above the contraband shouts
of boys ignoring our mothers’ disapproval
deaf ears
validating
the
silence and violence
of
our
fathers
celebrating
our imagined masculinity
