My neighbor
growing up
smoked a pipe
in spite of cancer.
That sweet tobacco scent
still comforts me today.
Once, when I was five
I leapt into his pool
without my water wings attached.
I squatted on the bottom.
Pete jumped in and saved me.
It's strange what you remember.
It isn't that we can't
but rather:
We don't want to.
There are lines
in things like sand.
Some cross them
just to see.
My father took the fence down
between our place and the Bakers'.
I smelled when Pete was home
through the hole cut in his throat.
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