The gang met by Joe’s pond
The boys of summer, reaching into
Our souls to lift some inkling of
Childhood left withering in ourselves
And we jumped in
Jeans, sweatshirts, shoes
Seen plummeting into a near-frozen pond
At the end of fall
We needed it to be cold
We told ourselves
We needed it to hurt
We wanted to shiver in the frigid blue
And feel helpless once again
“It’s so damn cold, ”
Joe screamed, and we all
Answered, practiced, in unison
“Yes it does and we like it very much! ”
Are you ready to get out?
Our eyes asked as we gazed around
Searching our fellow comrades
For some answer
No, I said. We’re not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.