Monday at the Circle K

I am hanging on a tree
trying to stretch my limbs.
Young Miss says you can,
but down inside I know
I am destined to be a stubby
Mexican in a sea of lithe hillbillies.
I get a dollar from Grandpa who just got home
in his white painting clothes
that remind me a lot
of what he wore in the pen, where he learned to knit.
Think I lost that scarf in the last move, or the one before.
It was warm. Itchy, but warm.
We all get our dollars from him
 and head to
the Circle K where we place our quarters
on the Pac-Man, Dig-Dug, Centipede or really
whatever happens to be working
after we bought some apple HubbaBubba
and a coke to share.
The hairs on my neck are extra curly
with sweat and I am glad for the wobbly ceiling fan.
I slide in my quarter, push two player and let my cousin go first.