dusk

I regret that dusk isn’t what it was

touch football turned to tackle
neighborhood kids -- heat-seekers all
chasing off the chill
charging loose limbed into a pile

eight kids deep

the Nerf ball buried at the bottom
is just a feint

we need this warm pyre
all of it

to chase off what we know
that the last of summer is spent

and so
raked like fallen leaves
these warm complicitous bodies
grunt, laugh and struggle
combustible

the streetlight sputters on
and we pretend not to hear the far cries
the grown up voices

dinner is ready
but we are not