GLORIOUS

There is nothing better than this:

Me and the gang

out by the swings

in these predawn hours

high on glue

dancing before the rains.

Harry trips and laughs

as he bleeds from his ear

drying before he can wipe.

Hank dreams on the slide

descending to wherever he may go.

"We are... we're becoming something,"

Hugh One says

and his brother, H Two

nodding off

offers silent assent.

We don't care

me and the gang

what any of us are saying.

Words are irrelevant

to us, this morning

bags of paint emptied at our sides

as we seven wait for the sunlight

dwarfed by its majesty

wondering what this day may hold

and if it could possibly be as good

as this one.

This day is glorious.

The hardware store is glorious.

This playground is glorious.

This... is...

...

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