Runnig with buckets will never mean the same

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We saw the buckets approaching faded red plastic sloshing droplets of gumbo water. Bony legs dirtied and caked with youth and the good bacteria... the kind which defeats the bad. We saw the sweat glistening on the back of a ratted t-shirt thrown on in haste to beat the mornings first hot finger pinches In one pocket baggies filled with chopped gourmet hotdogs and processed turkey meat slimy with age. "What in the hell," we said, our guts burning with envy an ache set too deep even to touch our grown up mouths "Look at that crazy bird chirping over twelve crawfish" Our words spilling out like bullfrog croaks. We picture ourselves running with gumbo water filled red plastic buckets but we already know how brittle our thimble imaginations have become... "aaayyy that one needs a bath."