slid in bass-drop dams up
pierced ears, furred
with youth, his vest drinks sweat,

lunchtime, in the maths department
arranging pencils by colour
two friends, carefully sorting
into clear plastic tubs

Unexpected as burned stone,
what am I supposed
to do with this memory?

Aircon crickets through the night
outside my parents’ bedroom
since brother and I are not allowed AC
given the dangers of cold air to children.

We did not inherit land,
only remnants of fields they burned—
black fields scorched before we understood

Maybe I remember getting brunch;
or the time the dog ate my croissant;

He couldn’t play rugby – the oval slithered away
whenever he touched it and he fell in the mud
or more often was pushed with some viciousness.

When we first came here two seasons ago
You were barely as high as my hip
Now you can look me right in the eye
It’s almost impossible to believe

When our plaything ricochets
falling
who knows where
everything hinging
on the line