Little Tippy
A weathered trailer, painted white
A fire burning through the night
A front porch cleaned with bleach and broom
A doorbell in the dining room
An itchy couch, a pull out bed
The perfect place to rest your head
The smell of smoke and lake and wood
Catching turtles when we could
A rusted, wobbly, creaking swing
The stupid songs we all would sing
A hot dog on a cat fish hook
Mom outside, reading a book
A game of cards, a hand of dice
Expired milk and great fried rice
Our nightly games of hide and seek
A day spent playing in the creek
An old dirt road, a giant hill
The scars that we all carry still
The phrases we would always say
Like “Mark, I caught one!” every day
A paddle boat and double bike
And stories of the giant pike
Tubing on the choppy wake
Days and days spent on the lake
A little lot for us alone
Every summer, we called it Home