to be broken, since you asked," the man put his hands together at the finger tips and gathered his thoughts. The coating of dew had begun to melt and drips were making a chorus of sound while the crowd gathered sat somewhat enraptured. "It's that evil is always breaking the rules, so we have to be adaptable to change."
"Are you a cult leader?" A kid asked.
"But not sin!" Our mother chomped on a wedge of green apple with brown sugar on it.
"Exactly!" The man said.
People looked around at each other. A serious-looking teenager known for his inventions and improvements to stuff like go-karts broke his gaze at the man, stared into his coffee, then looked at everyone and said, "Like free thinking or free will which God gave us in addition to parameters." The dew drops were rolling down the back of his jean jacket like lines on a map.
There was a crashing through a thick part of the woods. People just sat and waited. Then three boys in army clothes with rifle stalks opened the vines and found us all. "Did we make it on time?"
"Ah, but what is time?" The macaroni man asked philosophically. "It's a Saturday."
"WHOA...." One of the boys drowning in a helmet breathespoke as he put his glasses on and saw the guts of a tank behind the man. "Now that's a beauty."
After the Weekend Retreat Welcome our mother waited until people were questioned out and the rigid-standing man was again standing alone. She approached. A bunch of us kids came from every direction and joined her. We all looked up at him. "Yes?" He finally said.
Mom put a hand on one brother's shoulder and tried to push him forward to ask. He shoulder-shrugged her hand off of him and crossed his arms. Then he tapped his foot. He'd seen this classic "woman" stance dozens of times at friends' houses. Another brother looked at him and dramatically zipped his own lips shut. Sherry's mouth was sticky and she swallowed as best she could. The man took a canteen from his belt and knocked back a sip and clipped the canteen back on his belt without looking away from us. "What do you want me to ask Mom?" The middle sister crossed her arms and asked. A brother kneed her and she dipped but rebounded. "I see how it is," our mother said. The man was handed a clipboard. "Next activity start time?" He asked without looking at it. "O-700 Sir," a paled skin, pale olive green pants man said and turned and left holding onto the sides of his pants so he wouldn't salute.
A little girl with pigtails walked into the man walking away's leg. "BOOT," she said. She put her hand over her eyes like a salute to block out the sun as she looked way up at him and asked, "Can you help us?"
"Put it back together." The man in front of mama pointed at the teenager. "But it's not ready."
The man unclipped the canteen. Handed it to our mother. "Keep it. You might have communicable diseases." Mama held it away from her like it was a stinky baby diaper. "So might you." A brother grabbed it and opened it, smelled it, and hung it on his belt.
"There's a MANPERSON WITH A GUN," the little girl with pigtails was pulling the other man's pant leg up and down and repeating over and over.
"She's doing everything to win that man's Love."
The older black woman barely looked through the hedges. Her head shook off the bone-weary and her chin dropped back onto her chest. She was memorizing manual after manual.
"Don't you think that's Romantic?" The younger black girl said right in her ear.
"I suppOze." She smiled the size of a piano keyboard and stifled giggling. Shook her head at youth.
"Be more so." The elder black man said it so it could be a wish or a prayer or lead to a sorting of facts.
He was memorizing a Prayer Book. His thick rimmed glasses were melted in little waves on top. The older black woman put the manual on a little pile of already memorized. Sat while turning into on knees facing the younger girl and said, "YES, I THINK it IS romantic." The younger girl sat the same way and they started to play patty cakes.
A different young with graying haired black man waltzed with his "great". She was a featherweight.
"Why YOU keep?????" The whale of a muscled man in train overalls with hands handcuffed behind his back woofed as he stuck his face out--eyes wide open, face back--eyes closed. "Now he's mocking me," a normal looking woman went and told an officer in sweatpants. I'd been looking at the sky. I got up into a crouch, wiped the man's drool with a mama tissue and put my lips near his forehead and hoarsely whispered WATCH!
He sobbed in my pocket. I sat back down on a big rock. "Watch what?" He sobbed.
I looked back at the sky.
Soon I saw the dot. "See it?"
"What's it looking for?" The person with the shotgun had it pointed at us.
"Watch."
The dot got a lil bit larger and larger still.
"Mama's writing a poem," I explained as narrator of the documentary.
"It'll do it," a nerdy man had put his finger in his mouth and popplucked it out to feel the wind.
The dot wibbledandwobbled then gyrated into a triangle of white lined in grey. Then turned back into a dot. Closer still.
"Patrick, look. Come and look." A small kid unsat from atop a car blanket. His face was swollen unrecognizable. A rectangle yellow butt from his forehead over his nose down splitting his top lip. Mama Sherry held out her hand for him to take. Then put vaseline on a QTip under his eyes and on eyelids like pieces of toast. A slightly larger boy took his other hand, Hurry now.
Two lines of drool dripped steady out of Bahloogah Blue's open mouth. Patrick's pitch white hand brushed the patch of flannel on a hole on his bent knee. His pointer strummed up the drool and squashed it into the palm he freed from his brother's hand. He pointed to the sky. "Here it comethz."
The moving dot getting bigger and bigger, turned square then into a stop sign shape, then melted like fancy drapery into two groups. White and gray. People looking at the far away suddenly started covering their heads with arms and hands and that made others scramble into available bushes and behind tree trunks as lines of pigeons steamed to a yacht sail just above our heads. "I hear it," a brother of mine had a conch shell to his ear and the sky. Another had one between an ear and the manhole cover. They all held up a Fonzi thumb until they spied each other and tapped the shoulders of other boys and girls. Each with a "chore".
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