Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Twelve trips to the doctor,
a number of cuts, scrapes,
gashes marked that summer
of accidents and mishaps
of youthful excitement
a witness to some, but not all
of the adventures turned awry
A firm memory of the line from the
last accident, a cut
I ran to the driveway to get
an adult, a race to him, to survey
the damage, to prepare for the trip
but no panic, “I’m putting pressure on it.”
Maturity from experience
at the end of the summer of stitches.

September 24, 2006 15:21

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