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?”