1997, ten years old. Lived down the street from the hardest kid, his name was Jo-Jo. Stories ran up and down the halls. How his dad skipped town and left him holding the ball. So when we found out Jo-Jo disappeared we thought nothing at all. Nothing at all, never dreamt he would fall.
Summer came and pushed the neighbors away. Nothing to do but pray for a runaway. Nothing to do, nothing to say. Mrs. Rice told us all not to worry, 'cause the flighty ones always leave in a hurry. Found his body on the side of the road; one week from thirteen, now he'll never get home.
Underneath the pines. drowning for air in the dull light. The body breaks but it never learns.