My first and only prose poem.

We trampled the grass with eight-year-old feet, stalking that bleary-eyed dog of our neighbor’s, wielding bleeding Popsicle torches, traversing green hills (in search of war), tore the heads off blades of grass and suffocated smooth stones in our sticky palms. When we’d looted the sand for coins and ravaged the trees for grapefruit, our pagan sun-god had disappeared and we returned to our only conqueror, who alone had power to knife the dirt from under our fingernails and scald us with steaming water.