Kick the Can
This is a poem about kick the can.
It starts with with a bunch of crap about fireflies and crickets and the moon. There's this part about staying up late as a kid, which is probably a metaphor for hope or whatever. I think there's also something about breasts in there, but it's a little confusing.
Then there's this part about being it and loneliness and responsibility and adulthood, and I think breasts again, and then this weird section about the poet being left by his lover, which morphs into this thing about sex with lots of references to milk and rain. The language gets a little thick here and it definitely makes you feel a little stupid.
It ends with this you can't go home again thing, which I think is meant to be hopeful, as in, you can't go home again but there are always new adventures ahead of you, but it doesn't really work, and you're left a little unsatisfied, wondering why you wasted your time.
Reading it, I mean.
This poem about kick the can.