It is no longer there but I can see the gnarled tree stump
that used to be a horse in a cowboy and indian game,
occupying a corner of the infant school playground.
At my turn, I was always Little Joe of Bonanza fame.
The mixing of the childish and the creative produced
something of what I am today. The uneven, rough
knobbly, insect-ridden bark left ragged marks on my skin,
and in my head, clear memories, the important childhood stuff.
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