…would always fold first
with a piece of ashphalt
sticking out of his left shoulder
the right being sacrosanct
and the easiest to defend against incoming missiles

Boots snicking in the gravel
sent dust skipping like new young
with empty grabbing hands
in a wash of greyed-ochre
the smarter would aim high for any advantage

Once, we forgot the rules
I threw, pitched and turned to run
scatching gravel, firing from my heels
a red haze descended
as you dived for your next stone, sharp on a point, it fit too well

Gaining my ground I turned
it lodged above my left eye
with a crack,
I buckled
and you with your snakes hiss laughed at my misfortune,

bent double in the dust,
grabbing at your bursting liver

and I,
kneeling,
fumbling
dripping rusted stains onto the gravel,
laughed as well.

(to my friend, the sky has never seemed as vast)