My Side of the Mountain

During each of my

childhood summers

I watched my mountain burn

dry brush and parched weed

set aflame with the boredom of kids 

with no teachers to distract them 

with math and history

and keep them from idle mischief.

Back in those days

there were no homes 

on my side of the mountain

so the fire fighters would just

park their great machines 

on the road below

and watch it burn.

Sometimes when

my mountain 

burned too quickly 

helicopters would fly overhead

and toss great billowing 

clouds of orange dust
on the running flames

while we pleaded with our parents 
to let us watch until bedtime.

My friends and I

could never understand why anyone

would burn our mountain 

so we figured 

it must be the high school kids 

because we didn't 
understand them either.

When we became

high school kids

we still went up to my mountain 

and did all the things 

you weren't supposed to do 

until you were much older

and we never 
burned my mountain

but someone else always did.

My mountain 

was an all-day 

private kingdom 

yet the only thing our parents 

cared about was that we were out 

from under their feet until 5:00pm.

I don't remember 

anyone in my house asking 

what I did all day on my mountain

and that seems 

strange to me now.

Ken Owen   August 2017
Van Niddy Press