Finding ships

  Find a submarine, leave a mark.

  Find a carrier, make me laugh.

  The pieces are slightly damp

  like our swim towels, reminding us

  of the sea that spawned the game

  of battling ships. Uncover the box after lunch,

  when we’re all bunched around the picnic

  table like curtains pulled back to let in

  the beams of mid afternoon. Share your carrot sticks

  and I’ll give you my milk carton—we sink

  boats with gusto, like immortal pirates

  resurrecting ships from a plastic grave.

  Every part of me aches with lessons

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  learned in how to stay afloat in the deep

  blue of the community pool. Every move I make

  is practiced, intentional—I knew I’d find your ship!

  And when my own vessels eat the red, I salute them like a captain

  before the board is reset and we all set sail once more.

  Swing society

  Step up, turn and slide,

  kick your legs like astronauts do

  in weight of lighter gravity,

  and swing. Face captured

  by the clinging clouds, then facing

  the sand sprinkled like chef salt.

  Pump your legs like pistons, a machine

  chasing behind the natural

  way of things. Grab a steed and ride

  with me, into the blue like silver-finned fish,

  conversations that keep time

  with the steady pump of the thick,

  linked chains, a beating heart.

  My friends ride alongside me,

  churning up wind like cowboys

  churn up dust. And the new kids?

  They gallop too, a confident rhythm

  we all swing to, trying to touch the skies.