Backyards

Laced together with

Driveways

Eyelets

Of detached garages

Built for anything

But cars

In Brian's yard

We are major league-ers

Aiming for

The fence

Behind the dog pen

In Patty's yard

The playhouse rises

On four wooden stilts

We are spacemen

Or spies

In my yard

We eat pea-pods

From the garden

And trade

Ball cards

On the porch

At dusk

We are roaches

Scattering

When the streetlights

Turn on