A sandbox shovel in my small fist,
one eye on the towering streetlight
that will soon put an end to my adventure.
On this humid April night I can be anything
I want to be, even invincible.
A lone lightning bug catches my gaze
and quickly I strike it down,
its body going thunk
against the plastic of my orange weapon.
I watch as it hobbles into the bushes,
I smile as its little light grows dim.
Mother’s shrill yell brings me to the dinner table
where she sets down a sonogram
that makes my father cry with joy.
I softly tell God that I will change,
that I will be better.