With relish, rainpour pools
in our dead-end dirt road. 
We, David from across the street and me,
sit in that puddle
like it’s a lakeside resort.
Our little buns caked in mud. 
Drawers soaked and drooping with glee.
Our moms, lounging on aluminum chairs
woven with green and blue stripes,
pass the time smoking Viceroys 
and drinking black coffee.