according to the geneva convention

when I was seven i
would go with you
and uncle ben to the lake
we would sit in barker’s
bar up the steep hill
next to the stone gas station
with one pump
you guys would cuss
drink foam out of frosty mugs
i would spin around on the stool
until you fed me quarters
to play endless games of shuffle board
and the bowling game
with collapsible plastic pens

sometimes I would chase
the minnows around
the tank out front
while waiting
one time you let
me drive the speed boat
with the faded red cadillac fins
to another bar on the lake
about two beers away

i remember a wild goat
curved horns
standing on an narrow ledge
above the main channel
watching us bounce through the waves
like a runaway torpedo
water splashing against my face

…..isn’t it funny what we remember?

you would have me play
patsy cline I miss you darling
B-19 on the jukebox
5 cents to get me out of earshot
while you guys patted
the waitress on her backside

it was when
you guys slept late
I mostly fished for perch
off the dock
it was my game
when they started to nibble
pull up the bait
so they wouldn’t be caught
and you wouldn’t
have to cut off their heads
I would come up the 27 stairs
empty stringer about the time
you guys got up

nope
not biting today
i’d say
at home
mom would ask me
what we did
i told her we had a blast
only gave her my
name
rank
and serial number