We played house like men
first published in Every Day Poets
in the derelict shop; boys,
"do not cross" black and yellow
invitation to play;
every inch of the wreck
was "cool" but the charred
remains on the table were best;
we imagined the tortures of hell
in our "captured enemy base"
moonlight shone through the ceiling
on that lone table, and
we interrogated each other for hours
spinning a buffet of lies
forth and back; 'til the cold
of dawn broke our resolve—then
we let the ghosts lie and hied
home to warm beds, breakfasts,
lives not destroyed by loss.
First published in Every Day Poets, 2011-02-23. Reprinted here by the author.