CAUGHT IN A BREEZE

Can't you see that we're together?
Stumbling past the gravel parking lot and low foothills
Hand in hand, searching for a place to be
Away from the center court action where young children run
They don't stop to think about their lives; all is too well;
Too well swinging joyfully, breathing crisp December air;
Too well shooting hoops and knocking ice off the backboards,
Kicking the tiny shards as they fall to the pavement,
Watching how far they'll travel and in which direction.
I won't bend over backwards to search for a glint of anxiety,
For whatever these children have to stress over,
It certainly won't be revealed to a stranger

I cup my hand around my girlfriend's forearm
Grasping tightly as if to signal distress;
She turns my way, her green eyes shifting rapidly, massive
Causing flurries to be released from heaven.
The temperature drops and the wind picks up.
The kids playing soccer on the near field look frightened
My first real sense of alarm, they stop dribbling
The ball; the freckled goalie screams, he has no hood
On his threadbare navy blue sweatshirt, covered in lint.
My girlfriend pulls me along, looking for a better place
To stand about idly; I concur.
She grits her teeth menacingly; she begins to gallop ahead
Leaving me no place to go but back; she's headed for the street;
Her small yellow T-shirt with the Wal-Mart grin
Takes me back to easier times, to moments of shopping for toys,
Ignorantly pulling objects from the shelves,
Searching with fervor for the perfect present
Though finding nothing, and finding no fault within myself
Because I was only a little one, operating on my own concerns, at my own time spent.

Now, when I see her split from my arms
I have to wonder where I've come from
Undermining her simple pleasures
...Maybe I'm just another five year old, needing something to do
And trying out a new trend to set my life into motion, losing little in the attempt.
Maybe I'm the only real child left.

And so I hurry towards the tall rusted swing set,
Just a simple pleasure for a boy, who's gone back several years,
Forgetting that girls are to be cherished.
Forgetting which school he should call his own,
For he has no one to beat back into him the reality he failed;
He remains in the same spot, a position with no friends, no companionship,
No chance of returning to an unknown spot filled with strangers from a lost time.

I sit to the left of a boy with black locks that flow down
And to the right of a girl with jeans and a puffy sweater.
This must be my niche in this world; I am a playground fool,
Swinging by kids while the wind swirls my ruffled thoughts.