Playground wars


    My captains were all blonde,


    eager to conquer the rails


    and bars like valkyries


    in tennis shoes.


    The boys would swarm, giving chase,


    eager to send wood chips flying


    like bullets, pushing us down


    or forward,


    more intent on the motion


    than the conquest—


    run like you can lap time,


    stretch recess into tomorrow.


    Sometimes we staged a coupe, allowing a boy


    into the ranks, switching sides like kids


    on the seesaw, birds flying in a v


    toward the metal


    Stolen story; please report.


    rays of a playground sun.


    We ran and ran


    and ran


    Kicking cooties


    Sailing the elementary seas,


    I faced the freckled girls,


    long-limbed sirens


    blaring


    like fog horns, scattering reason


    and thought. Other girls


    orbited a different sun,


    hands busy


    constructing ideas and hobbies I’d never


    heard of, could care less of. Cruel


    girls, fierce girls. Indifferent girls.


    Girls who played


    kickball in the same painted confines as me.


    And when my turn comes to send the ball


    skyward, the others crowd in


    like fans cooing


    at their pet star—get in close enough to steal


    confidence and air. He’ll fold again.


    But one day I rear like


    the ancient knights


    on flaming horses


    and slam the ball into the future.


    Not even the girls could bring


    that shooting star down.