MORE THAN A MUFFIN
By Matthew Sanborn Smith
We shook the trees until muffins fell out.
“These are stinky blueberry!” Horatio cried.
“Shake harder,” I said. We shook harder. We were after corn muffins because we liked the feel of the grit on our teeth. The shade was magnifico, it being so wicked hot out this time of day. Mornings are a good time to eat muffins, but if you can hold out until mid-afternoon, you’ll get them hot because they’ll have been baking in the high sun. Pancho had a pocketful of butter that was just begging to be spread.
Eventually, a whole bushel of golden corn muffins pummeled our skulls. We sat at the base of the trees and stuffed our guts. We barely had time to lick our teeth before Suzy came running up the hill.
“Mambi’s house is on fire! Momma wants you to get a firetruck!” We groaned but got to our feet.
“Start shaking!” I hollered. We shook the hell out of the big oak. I put my hand over my head for protection when the hook and ladder came crashing through the branches.