the playground is a tangled string and we will climb and climb and her socks so crumpled in her tennis shoes hair in a scrunchie she is so popular and she can draw horses. why can't I talk to people like she can. the wood chips are getting in my shoes and I can't do the monkey bars. My hands are getting blisters. I give up. The sky is very bright, we are picking blackberries from the side of the wire school fence, we are getting pricked by their thorns and eating them right there. we are wearing your grandfather's business coats, the striped pockets are below your knees and we are businessmen. we use the typewriter and are efficient. we type lists of everything that we want to do when we grow up. I can't find those lists we wrote, they are in a cardboard box you never unpacked or maybe between the wallpaper and a cabinet somewhere in that house you sold. But we were hiding in the trunk of the truck with our rations, eating tuna out of its tin and we are in the army. we are escaping and we might get shot. we are dangerous and brave people.