Adolescence
by Kenneth Wanamaker


We cannonball and jackknife
taut bodies on a taut rope
suspended over a slow river.
We shed skin again and again
'til all that remains, come winter,
is the frayed-end, prints frozen in mud.
And if by chance we happen by
on a cold afternoon
it is to inch our way on ice,
tempting a crack in our budding fate.






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