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.