‘Mr. Binkley’s Crab Apple Tree’

Running through the neighborhood,

crawling under bushes,

hiding in Mr. Binkley’s crab apple tree.

Playing army, believing a tree,

a bush, a fence or the corner of a building

would protect us from death.

Kids fighting imaginary wars with plastic guns.

No politics or religious ax to grind.

We were undefeated,

waiting for the ice cream truck to play its song,

going home for supper

before the mosquitoes came out.

Wars and rumors of war.

Everyone’s right and everyone’s wrong.

Terrorists cast ballots with bullets.

Might makes right,

because the dead can’t write history.

Help me plant a forest

of Mr. Binkley’s magic crab apple trees,

and send our children home at night alive.

6/10/24