Leaving the Yard
I didn’t want to play in the dangerous yard with the kids anymore.
I wanted to walk, and then gallop
in the sun, with the sun people.
The men and women who sacrificed
old ego for new ego
who sacrificed everything
for a few good things.
I decided to put my angry toys aside
the time for sticks and bare knuckles and bruised body,
unknown body
bloody knees
gashed lip,
I had to let that go, the taste of my own blood.
-—* — -
You would think all the girls were so pretty that
they were never hurt.
But believe you me,
we were all bruised.
I just lost the energy to hide it.
The yard was not clean,
would never be clean.
The children hissed and shushed
when I told them so,
though we need to believe in hurt.
- — * — -
What kind of days are these?
Last Days.
The last days of recognition
The last days of bucking up
The last days of self care in place of healthcare
The last days of talking at instead of talking to
The last days of the broken ride, the unclean place, the fear of sleep
and never ending fatigue.
How many days left
between the danger in the yard
and the daydream?
