Hunting With Ollie
                                for David

Fall leapt over Big Hills Park
disturbing maple trees and swing sets
with Wisconsin rain and rain and rain.

We gathered mulberries in a pink frisbee
and ate them through the afternoon
over dark railroad tracks and evening crickets, Mom
behind us shouting, “Stay away from the river.”

Later, she wanted us to taste syrup from a tree,
but you and I kept looking at a dead cat,
eating juicy bruised berries
with our red mouths.

Previously published in The Fourth River.