Love Is a Playground

 

My son is playing dodgeball on the playground

of his young heart, ducking and swerving

in order to be struck square by

the fickle affection of 7^th grade girls.

 

Lily has loved him twice now,

the sequel shorter than the original

which was but a brochure.

 

He doesn’t understand the evolving and

revolving mind of the female, how to

jump on and jump off the merry-go-round

without being injured.

 

It reminds me of the trick we played on

one another in grammar school.

With our seesaw partner on the plank

lifted high in the thrilling air, we suddenly

dismounted which brought the mate

crashing to earth with a thud-clank.

 

I wish I could tell him girls will outgrow that,

but perhaps I should tell him that any time

his feet aren’t touching the ground

he should always keep his knees bent.

 

-- rLp --

Comments

[Karen Aldridge]

This is so bittersweet. I'm not looking forward to this time in my boys' lives. But luckily, I'll have this in the vault to refer to. Thanks.

[Cameron]

Thanks for putting me in one of your poems. Although this wasn't exactly a happy memory, this is a fantastic poem, Dad.
Last line- perfect.