My best friend, Jimmy,
And big brother Charlie
Took one stack;
I claimed another
And looked back

To where they stood.
I held my mountain;
They held theirs,
Calling names,
Trading swears,

But meant no harm.
Not even when
We pulled from pockets
Previously stashed
Back-alley rocks

And threw them,
Gingerly at first,
Then hard and harder,
Aiming at
Pretended murder

Until a single jagged stone
Flying an unlucky arc
Bashed me on my curly head
. I screeched like any five year old,
Sure as snot I’d soon be dead.

Jimmy ran;
Charlie, all contrite,
Guilty Cain to my bloody Abel,
Walked me home
While I worked on my fable.