Playground wars

  My captains were all blonde,

  eager to conquer the rails

  and bars like valkyries

  in tennis shoes.

  The boys would swarm, giving chase,

  eager to send wood chips flying

  like bullets, pushing us down

  or forward,

  more intent on the motion

  than the conquest—

  run like you can lap time,

  stretch recess into tomorrow.

  Sometimes we staged a coupe, allowing a boy

  into the ranks, switching sides like kids

  on the seesaw, birds flying in a v

  toward the metal

  Stolen novel; please report.

  rays of a playground sun.

  We ran and ran

  and ran

  Kicking cooties

  Sailing the elementary seas,

  I faced the freckled girls,

  long-limbed sirens

  blaring

  like fog horns, scattering reason

  and thought. Other girls

  orbited a different sun,

  hands busy

  constructing ideas and hobbies I’d never

  heard of, could care less of. Cruel

  girls, fierce girls. Indifferent girls.

  Girls who played

  kickball in the same painted confines as me.

  And when my turn comes to send the ball

  skyward, the others crowd in

  like fans cooing

  at their pet star—get in close enough to steal

  confidence and air. He’ll fold again.

  But one day I rear like

  the ancient knights

  on flaming horses

  and slam the ball into the future.

  Not even the girls could bring

  that shooting star down.