getting beat in a ten-round game of jacks by the youngest
member of the pack –
hop scotch boards drawn in chalk at each end of the
sidewalk –
strolls to the corner store with a quarter, or more, in hand
for a bagful of penny candy –
relay races ran in the middle of the street, boys against the girls,
where the littlest miss always kept the pace for victory –
double-dutch jump rope contests initiated by the conceited loud
mouths on Central Avenue to determine the best on the block –
waiting impatiently for the tinkling tune of the Good Humor truck
to buy a bomb pop, and then the hurry to lick, suck, and slurp it down
before it melted to the ground –
collard greens, mac and cheese, and whiting fish – dinners
prepared with care by the Muslims and dropped off every
other Saturday afternoon –
sitting on the front porch at nightfall, neighbors and all, while
the kids caught lightning bugs in a jar –
summer’s of the past,
an innocent, wonderful time – lost.
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