Bicentennial

I got my hair cut like Dorothy Hamill
when I was nine
and I would try to spin gracefully
on my roller skates

like the Olympian on ice-
but the secret to skating ability
wasn’t in some follicles.

I stood next to him at the bicentennial parade
watching my older sister twirl a baton
long blond hair bouncing
with a starched smile
like a Barbie doll
in a red, white and blue sequined, body suit.

His smile was toothy
like Donny Osmond’s.
Thirteen, with brown hair
and a crooked nose
where his father broke it
two years ago-
a going away present.

I squeezed between him and my sister
on the tailgate of Grandpa’s blue, Ford Falcon.
Eyes trained as flaming geysers splashed the sky
fireworks sizzled and popped
loud as my heart’s thrum
before they fizzled and died.

He was the only one on the block
who could out run me
which meant
he would catch me every time
I stole his baseball cap.
Grab me by the back of the shirt
as he closed in behind
laughing, he’d snatch it back
our daily ritual.

He was my one in six million
until he stopped chasing me
and started chasing my older sister.

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This one is written from my little sister's point of view. She really did steal his baseball cap every day.