There are other realities — but this one
Is Now, and I don't either like it or
Dislike it. And that doesn't matter.
The children in the school-yard across the
Street still scream Here, regardless of me.
And I think of them, although they're immune to my
Attention. Their joy — if that's what it is —
Reminds me — but to no consequence.
So what if being a child is so wonderful:
At the top of the hill there is a stop sign —
Which too many drivers ignore. They do not
Stop, neither do they hear the kids.
They just drive — making turns without direction —
As I try to forget about the terrible years.