Summer’s Youth
Tyler Jungbauer
For Ray Bradbury
This childhood’s Eve,
the firebugs chirrup
on the windowsill;
I lay listening in
white foam sheets,
like an air-tuft amid
the ocean’s wake,
and I lay listening,
my ears turned inside-out,
watching the full trees
dance with the maiden wind,
as all around my head
goblin-shadows gather
with heat-forks and
Moonlight-daggers,
and I lay listening,
thinking, “There is no
such thing as oldness;
it’s all an adult-lie,
a trick Mom-Dad use
get me to eat my broccoli.”
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