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LACY BARKER

The Lost Boys

On Christmas Eve my aunt falls
on me for support, vodka tongued
and weepy. Her boys are gone,

lost to powders, to guns. I picture her
in court, wrecked after the sentencing,
helpless to drive safely anywhere.

As kids we played cops and robbers
in grandma’s backyard, dodged
rocks with bare feet. How swiftly

we alternated roles, how greedily
I reached for the gun, emptied
BBs into leaves at my cousins’ feet

and dreamed of aiming higher.  

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   Contributor’s notes

   Fight or Flight
   The Lost Boys
   Ma the Movie Star

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