Playground In Winter

Posted by in Poems on Dec 2, 2011



Kids with short haircuts like to win,

red-faced and sweating, they stamp the frost slick

beyond the frozen puddle, to lengthen the slide.

Others watch the edge and centre,


piece the universe together

from kits of unlikely components.

A lone mystic boy blows phantoms

of steaming breath into the low sunbeams.


Girls are wise, waiting for life

to remind them of what they know.

Their skipping rope describes

a wheel, constantly turning;

playground dharma. And their shadows

stretch half across the playground.