Playground

Crayon meets paper, Boy meets Girl.

On the swing set I’ll reach out as high as I can go,

And I’ll whine and I’ll sigh for you to push me away —

Away into the sky, a hummingbird that sings it’s sweet songs

Up, down, up, down, up I go on this seesaw, you and I on each side.

When you pull my pigtails and sneer my way, I can’t tell up from down,

But gap-tooth smiles and bright eyes of gold draw me in once more.

What is it — What is this — What are we — Are we — We?

With you, I’m reduced to an insect so small, a lone ladybug

That hides under sunflower shades and seeds in circular array.

A speck of dirt that stains your white shoes a muddy grey,

No more than a nuisance you’ll go home and wash away.

But still, for you, I’ll play pretend, I’m a construction worker laboring the day,

I’ll spend my hours in sandboxes and sun, build us a house we can call our home.

A garden full of flowers, I’ll plant them root by root and stem by stem,

With soiled hands I’ll dedicate, bittersweet messages words can never convey.

And you’ll laugh and you’ll grin, wave your hand at the mess that I’ve made,

Brush me aside like a child, crying pleads never enough for you to look my way.

You’re so much older, so much wiser than me, and I’m an unknowing runner,

My competition the seconds that add on to years between you and me.

Soon, I’m left breathless — an asthmatic in need of her inhaler,

But with each breath you give, another you take away.

And in the end, I’ll fall to the ground as the teacher shouts frantically —

She’ll take me to the nurse’s office, and the nurse’s office I’ll stay.

For a moment or two, I’ll think to myself: It’s for the better —

You’re so much older and wiser, and I could never compete.

Among all the pretty girls with their frills and feminine tapestries,

I see myself in the mirror and the child that looks back at me.

I’ll waste my youth on the playground you call your kingdom,

Draw my stick figures and build castles out of golden sand,

And fly as high as a hummingbird with it’s little humming tunes.

You’re beyond my years, I can’t help but look at you from below,

All the other boys are dust from old attics, while you stardust from a nova so far

So, here I’ll draw with my chipped crayons and dried markers

On my wrinkled papers of torn pages from old notebooks never once filled:

Boy meets Girl — Girl falls in love with Boy — Boy…..?