A flame in my throat, so hot
it scalds like cocoa,
my breath a yelp,
an angry stitch in my side,
feet slapping the sidewalk,
saddle shoes too tight,
shorts too taut,
my older brother so far ahead,
cantering like a pony,
all slim and horsehair sleek,
John Wayne tall but spare in the chest,
legs and body chestnut,
racing to the roar of the sun.
A flash at the corner,
and he’s gone.
I falter,
hunch over,
throb for air,
sob in,
gasp out,
legs on fire,
totter home,
fall onto the porch.
He hands me an ice cream sundae,
a dollop of extra fudge on top.
Bare arms barely touching,
we let the coolness in, the sweat dry.
A jump, and he bounds away,
disappears behind the house.
Fingers sticky and cold,
I leave my bowl,
grasp at his shadow,
follow him at a run.
About Ruth Gooley
