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