when
we could reach it and reveled in the soak
of
spits and sprinklers when they splashed.
We’d
step out from our sin smiling and
throw
our skin through the rinse
just
as the grass got sticky on our feet.
But
once through the water jets we’d
hit
the mud where we could leave a footprint
and
roll down in the straw like animals ‘til
every
bit of flesh was covered in the muddy pit,
but
when those spoils itched we’d fling back
through
the jets with a jump.
And
if by jumping we could rise to heaven
from
that hollow hit, some stayed rolling—
but
I swear some of us made it.
--Poems from the Sprawl
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