Cherry Bomb


       It echoed
      in the theater
      during a
      Lash Larue
      movie, like
      a demented
      cannon
      ball,
      ringing and
      screeching
      off the
      walls.
      The girls
      started
      screaming
      as if the whole
      world was
      blowing up.        

      My skinny
      eleven
      year old ass
      busting out
      the side door
      into bright
      sunlight,
      running down the
      alley and into
      the back door
      of Rexall Drugs,
      where I suddenly
      slowed my
      gait to a
      slow walk,
      down the
      cosmetics
      aisle,
      to the soda counter.

      I ordered
      a cherry coke,
      and the old wart face
      woman behind
      the counter
      asked me,
      “what’s that
      big, evil
      smile all about,
      sonny?”