Quarters
I try not to think too fondly on when
We played Quarters in the classroom
Until our knuckles were bloodied to the bone.
I felt alive then, like one of the 300. Bonded
By our trauma and loneliness.
I forget now why we felt so alone, so angry.
I try not to think too poorly when I punched
The bedframe three times.
I didn’t bleed, I only shed my skin and some tears.
Nearly 30 and still a child.
And I can’t afford the quarters.
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