Freeze Tag or Stuck in the Mud

the choked down supper of collards
and the cornbread’s butter still on the knife
the soft knocking at the screen door
and the teasing wafting in from outside

the metallic taste of out-of-breath blood
and the nagging gnats in the eyes
the fairy queen lift of lightning bugs
and the slow-down stitch in the side

and that’s when the neighborhood cheat shows up
and there is, always, forever, one such
the running away, unfrozen
and resurrected, but untouched