Dear Fire Ant Hill Near the Railroad Tracks Where I Grew Up

Forgive me.

I was walking along the tracks and came across you boiling at the edge. I didn’t know it then, but I was looking for the road out of there, a path away to my new self.

You were interesting. You were a cloud of anger. Young boys love menace. A stick was all it took. I gambled on the length.

I pulled some stinging soldiers from my socks. You went back to waiting to be angry. I found the road out.

Forgive me. And thanks.

Essayist, academic, lapsed philosopher, associate dean of ice cream. Welcome, pals.

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