It was cold.
A bone rattling winter morning.
Brother Rich and I are waiting for a ride to hockey practice.
We’re stomping our feet.
And banging our mitts trying to warm.
The hood of our green, ’55 GMC pick-up, is coated with frost.
A frosty floral design.
“I dare you to lick it.”
“You dare me to lick it?”
“What do I get if I do?”
“You won’t do it.”
“I won’t do it?”
Pudgy boy shoots his devilish grin.
I wheel around,
And, lick it. [Read more...]