the street was dark
except for a few lights
lit in the houses piled on top of each other
like legos
and then it exploded
as a compact figure landed
sturdy on the bonnet of a red landrover

he'd climbed the back like a cat,
then flipped,
setting off alarms in all shapes and colours,
and sending our merry pack tumbling down the hill,
sneakers pounding pavement,
backpacks bobbing
and giddy laughter leaving a trail behind us

and by that brook,
trees piled close like the houses
except for one clearing where we sat
and dangled our feet
and sometimes lost our shoes,
we all shared a toke
and a lighter
and stories about our mutual friends
and bands we love

but i stopped that a long time ago,
my days of setting off car alarms
and running away from the cops
are long gone,
and i've been told that they don't go there anymore,
they've found other hills to stumble down
and other knolls to haunt.

their numbers are dwindling
and they're losing one or another
every month
to government
or good
or god.

(for Pete Franzoni, 1981-2001)