summer scratched knees,
grit and glass; stars press on green,
and raindrops of sweat in the sand.
a crater. a shallow hole.
with no ripple to its name
to slow nor speed up time,
if the desire were there.
the girl arranges quartz-crusted slugs
in size order, then
the bully goes first – a plastic shovel
smears it across the wooden frame,
and the smell of cat shit fills the air.