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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