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By John I. Blair

We reached the tops
Of the lumber piles
By the planing mill,
Struck bold poses,
Played King of the Hill.

My best friend, Jimmy,
And big brother Charlie
Took one stack;
I claimed another
And looked back

To where they stood.
I held my mountain;
They held theirs,
Calling names,
Trading swears,

But meant no harm.
Not even when
We pulled from pockets
Previously stashed
Back-alley rocks

And threw them,
Gingerly at first,
Then hard and harder,
Aiming at
Pretended murder

Until a single jagged stone
Flying an unlucky arc
Bashed me on my curly head
. I screeched like any five year old,
Sure as snot Id soon be dead.

Jimmy ran;
Charlie, all contrite,
Guilty Cain to my bloody Abel,
Walked me home
While I worked on my fable.

2005 John I. Blair  

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Name: Louise Engel Email:
Comment: I LOVE John Blair#apos#s writing ! Is there any place where I can buy any that has been published?



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