The Bats

I’m out with a buddy Kirk tripping all night summer of ’84 we get chased into the woods by the cops flashing their blue and reds spotting us drinking beer on the monkey bars of a local school Kirk freaks running from tree to tree smearing his face with dirt and stuffing his cap with leaves like a couple fat cops are coming into the woods to wrangle two teens off to the clink there’s no talking sense they didn’t even stop to grab the beers still in their bag under the monkey bars calm everyone right down so I sprint out to grab them but when I return to the sand pit in the woods Kirk’s split I try my luck drinking a warm one for direction then slink through back yards between trees across town unlatch the fence in my backyard it’s nearly morning I think I can get in the house after mom leaves for work at 8:30 supposed to be sleeping at a friend’s what are you doing coming home with the bats smelling like a drunk what’s wrong with your eyes you’re not leaving that chair until you tell me what the hell is going on pretty cold for a summer night I lift up the bottom boughs of the big back yard pine to check if there’s space for a body to curl feel around in the dark with my hand for roots and crawling things find crushed coffee cups cigarette butts balled up paper bag greasy to the touch wonder if it’s another man’s warmth I’m feeling in the dirt or the lower end of the chemicals kicking off the hair on my neck standing on end like sparklers