The Children

 

the children are out to play

they swarm around the court like bees

the children are playing ball

a cacophony of screams and flashing knees

 

the children are here to read

their minds envelop the pages like their mouths do cake

they stop just for a moment and they breathe

they haven’t thought perhaps that it’s all fake

 

the children are here to work

the drumming of the computers typing out fingers

the children are here to drink

the smell of beer and sound of cheesy singers

 

the children are here to wait

they sit on the porch and drink tea like honey

they hold the shaking cup with an absent mind

they have started to find everything funny

 

the children are here to cry

they weep as they suffer the world’s pain

the children are here to die

they drift from the sun to the moon like nothing