Murdock 82423

Carved into my identity.

Oakland Hills,

A made up name

for split levels

and ranches 

all the same.

Fledgling trees,

fledgling children

in every home,

walking to

Clover Street, 

the elementry

classrooms

in a square, 

with a cruel principal,

slamming boys

into walls.

We just thought

that was normal

because we didn't know. 

Today the same moves

would arrest that principal 

for child abuse.

Daddy held me

up to the sky

to hear Thunder gods roar, 

The Hillman Minx, 

washed weekly,

gleeming with 

fresh wax, 

ready to roll.

Our new suburban domesticity,

with waving fields of weeds

before the shopping center

sprouted,

 we built a city from sand

on our house's side, 

and I led neighborhood kids

on journeys to castles growing regally

among the trees.