Poetry · Writing

Hide & Seek

I’ve never been good at seeking.

Stuffed under a rock behind

your mom’s old wagon

was always my first guess.

Running along the padded

bed of roses, never thought

to check further.

Why would anyone go that far?

Hiding was always easy.

You can hide in plain sight,

the seeker never looked to close.

Always in the neighbors backyard

or in the basement under

the ping-pong table.
I was right behind you.

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