I remember throwing my first punch into Robbie Johnson’s third grade nose.
Blood and tears.
He started it.
I remember marching around the block.
Scott led the way in one of mom’s shag wigs,
a yellow polka dot bikini, and high heels.
We used sticks for scepters.
I remember when Davey Jones broke up with my Barbie after she cut her hair.
She knew things would never be the same and spent the rest of her days hiding in the garage.
I remember Trixie Belden books under the covers
with flashlights becoming a cross round my neck
to finger while reading Salem’s Lot.
I remember Hash jeans with a crescent moon on one back pocket,
and bells so big they could ring.
I remember Cheryl M, mean girl. Snake.
I remember loving Kirk until his fists hit my face
while his friends did bong hits in the other room
ignoring my pleas.
That’s what I get for punching Robbie Johnson.
Brenda Warren 2016
Notes: The prompt at NaPoWriMo today suggested we write a based on things we remember. An excerpt from a memoir piece, “I Remember,” by Joe Brainard was provided there as an example. I liked the excerpt and tried to follow suit.