my brother and half-cousins

make helicopter sounds

with their tongues

and chase me like

I am one of the

bad boys bad boys

on COPS

 

the corn did grow

knee-high by the fourth

of July so even the

tallest among us are

obscured by the fields

invisible only until

boredom comes

scythe-and-all

for our crouched

restless bodies

and we point

ourselves out to

the seekers

 

I sprint every summer

through these hallways

never ever find a door

but my feet callus

nice and yellow-like

shell-like and I bet

I could outrun

the real police

if they came for me

out here in the middle

of the middle