The kids are screaming next door.
I’m sorry, they’re really laughing.
The sound is a bell toll.
They scream when they mean to laugh.
The joy just bursts out of their tiny lungs.
While I laugh when I mean to scream.
Containment being a product of my age.
Are they playing chase or racing down the driveway?
With bare feet or shoes?
I only wonder because…
Little running feet and grow into big running feet.
They take off across the world.
Discarded child shoes half buried in the sand pit.
I see them all the time but I’ve never seen the wearer.
There’s a point when the screaming stops.
Or, more so, shifts.
The kids were screaming next door.
Now I’m not sure.