Smalltown USA

The house I grew up in

sat atop a hill

buried deep in the suburbs

looking like the house over

and the next one

and the next one.

At the bottom of the hill,

there was a park

and a pool.

I spent my summers

walking up and down the hill

drowning myself in pool water

vandalizing the playground slide

stepping on ant hills on the large field

that you had to cross to get to the park and pool.

Through the maze of road,

I walked to friends houses

to schools

to gas stations

to libraries

to football fields

to the city's center.

There, 

school rivalries were of the utmost importance.

My sister and I would decorate ourselves 

with blue and gold

and together,

we'd scream for our brothers

along with the rest of the crowd.

I spent every weekend at basketball games

or football games. 

I'd play tag underneath the bleachers

and spend my father's money on concessions.

My skin was marred with bug bites

and removable #24 and #14 tattoos. 

I was eight

when they built the large playground

next to the library

and the YMCA

in front of the high school entrance.

That summer was filled with

imaginary pirates and princesses

superheroes and damsels.

I was the keeper of the monkey bars,

the ruler of the swings.

I climbed atop the tubed slides

and looked upon the entire city

feeling invincible. 

My dad took me on his runs

at the high school track.

When you're youngest,

you have nothing

but your imagination.

And so the bleachers were mountains,

the field was a dense forest.

I grew up in a small city

in central Texas

northeast of San Antonio.

This is where I've lived and learned.

This is where I've cried and laughed.

This is my home.