Bring it, world.
Come at me.
I stand here, fully dressed to my ankles, sweat prickling down my skinny sides,
as the sun beats me down a little longer,
to do something
that I’ll be damn ready for.
Bucket in hand, shovel in the other, waves splashing by the side, rolling up on the sand, jostling it around.
And I give nothing away, I plan nothing in advance, I set nothing aside and hold no grudges.
No, I will not surrender to the tides, nor the night or the boogeyman.
I am fearless in the face of the sun, in the face of the cold winds sweeping around my ankles, making
them shiver and my teeth clatter.
I know there’s something coming for me,
something big, something real and so wonderful
the taste of it creeps up in me, lavishes through my mouth, dances around my tongue, tips into the nasal cavity and spits out at the gurgle of my sniff—I am getting a little clogged in the nose—
and I can feel
the oncoming invasion, the incoming onslaught, the incoming polymer sweatshirt I’ll wear soon as I’m too cold and my mom’ll take me home.
But I hold out yet, keep the fort warm, scout the perimeter and the horizon, report my observations to the headquarters and flank my enemy unbeknownst to the evil empires of clouds that are soon to take over the sun and make this day a lot shorter and a lot
But I am ready.
I say bring it on.
Bring on the boredom, bring on the tedium, bring on the slow, grey days and white walls,
bring on the terse milk and the overcooked rice. Bring on the old toys and the bullies, bring on the toothpaste and sleeping times, bring on the alarm clocks and the family board games.
Bring them all.
I have a bucket. And I am ready.
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