My brother hits me hard with a stick
     so I whip a choke-chain

     across his face. We're playing
     a game called Dynamite

     where everything you throw
     is a stick of dynamite,

     unless it's pine. Pine sticks
     are rifles and pinecones are grenades,

     but everything else is dynamite.
     I run down the driveway

     and back behind the garage
     where we keep the leopard frogs

     in buckets of water
     with logs and rock islands.

     When he comes around the corner
     the blood is pouring

     out of his nose and down his neck
     and he has a hammer in his hand.

     I pick up his favorite frog
     and say If you come any closer

     I'll squeeze. He tells me I won't.
     He starts coming closer.

     I say a hammer isn't dynamite.
     He reminds me that everything is dynamite.