Two foot tall Malibu lights flash
intermittently as they slowly come to life,
lighting the way to wood paneled wannabe mansions,
and signaling the end of our daily adventures.
The last of the hold outs, we huddle beneath them
with our jacket hoods over the top… giggling
and telling spooky stories in our makeshift tent.
The first call to dinner comes but we ignore it…
knowing full well in ten minutes there will be another.
We talk excitedly about our upcoming mud ball fight,
our impressive arsenals, and then taunt and laugh
hysterically while imagining each other’s demise.
Darkness falls as the second call beckons more intently!
If we wait for the third there will be consequences along with it.
So with sore butts, skin pitted through our clothes
from the gravel, we hop up say our goodbyes and
rush toward home calling out promises for tomorrow.
With each footfall we push a little harder…
so that when we reach the door it appears as though
we made the effort for that home cooked meal.