As children we came up here

pretending to be soldiers with our

green plastic helmets and long sticks.

 

We built a camp beneath the trees,

dug down into a hovel and covered it

with corrugated iron that had been

dumped in a skip.

 

We lived here that whole summer.

Holed up, waiting for an invisible enemy

or other kids on bikes.

 

Near the end of the holiday

a farmer spotted us and reported us

for trespassing.

 

We were coming back to kill him

the following year

but by then our appetites for war

had been replaced by other attractions.