When the dirt road became a stream,
just after the hard rain,
we ran out in our underwear
in view of my mother’s attentive eyes
we forgot about the modesty
preached from the Sunday pulpit
we frolicked in the muddy soup,
semi-naked children, rising
up from the primal ooze.
Neighbor’s peeked out
from behind laced curtains
when they heard our shrieks.
Soon they ran out with white
arms flailing, joining us in the
pleasure of our summer dance.
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