Do-overs

When I was young, oh maybe five,
the older boys would take us
up the rimrock on short day hikes.

Sometimes we'd find little nests
of rattlesnakes curled into balls
in the warmth of the sun.

The older boys would laugh
and show us how to gather
armloads of red-brown dirt clods.

When we had enough, we'd stand
and begin a barrage of clods
raining down on the snakes.

The older boys told us it was fun
to watch the snakes hasten away
as our bombs found their nests.

But I often wonder how it was fair
for bigger life to strike down
on unsuspecting sun-browned lives.

I think, if I had enough do-overs,
I would go back and heave my clods
at the bullies hiding in the rimrock.