kolmanlit
In Their Yard
Two boys are throwing a ball.
They are wearing jeans and gray t-shirts.
I, a lonely adult, am watching, viewing
from my third-floor window.
My eyes are away from the tennis
match on my television.
They are twelve-years old.
The square, boxed yard contains them.
Contains the bouncing ball.
Slap the ball, catch the ball.
The city streets, I consider, are not safe;
the schoolyard neither.
The prison of their yard.
That prison holds their futures.
Does the rubber ball serve as a key?
They sport hours in their emptiness,
in their nothingness.
I have never asked them to play.
I have never asked them anything.
So, this self-consciousness
leads me forward and backward.
I remember playing a lot of games
as the eager boy I was.
Others do not wonder about them as I do.
Do you think they will eventually
wind up here in this room like me?
They are wearing jeans and gray t-shirts.
I, a lonely adult, am watching, viewing
from my third-floor window.
My eyes are away from the tennis
match on my television.
They are twelve-years old.
The square, boxed yard contains them.
Contains the bouncing ball.
Slap the ball, catch the ball.
The city streets, I consider, are not safe;
the schoolyard neither.
The prison of their yard.
That prison holds their futures.
Does the rubber ball serve as a key?
They sport hours in their emptiness,
in their nothingness.
I have never asked them to play.
I have never asked them anything.
So, this self-consciousness
leads me forward and backward.
I remember playing a lot of games
as the eager boy I was.
Others do not wonder about them as I do.
Do you think they will eventually
wind up here in this room like me?
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In Their Yard
In Their Yard
