Childhood is still that time where they're not
going to let you walk free to the store
on the corner and pick out what you want,
but they'll pile four or five of you into the back
of an old station wagon, lower the hatch,
first wetting a finger to smudge away dirt
on this cheek, or straightening a shirt,
"move away from the windows,"
hedging their bets, a haphazard prayer
hoping for the best.
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