My sons wrestle under the tree
after school. The older one’s
friends gravitate to our yard
to take turns twisting each other up
on the swing or swinging wobbly fists
at each other’s fallow bodies.
They teach each other nothing
because boys and girls don’t care
about bruising
their canvases.
They stunt their tongues
with sh- and what the fuh-
like coolness radiates from profanity,
which adults know, depends
on the company you keep.
One likes to call his teachers stupid
and brag about coding Shit
in his German tongue. His mom and I
only scream at him to stop
when he kneels on my baby –
half his size and half his age,
my fiery warrior wanting back
his yard, his land, from the bullies –
her older boy like a cop,
he’s learned half the shit
you’re supposed to
about authority and respect.