Around and Around

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Around and Around


My tears won’t water this wasteland

enough to grow sufficient food

for even one bloated boy. The right words

slid in the right slots like a master-

round of Connect-4 won’t keep

even a single student’s mom

from calling it quits while he lines up

a free kick at an out-of-town tournament 


in Arizona. These games we play, 

carrying on because we must, because dust

won’t do the dishes. Ashes, ashes, 

we all fall down. It's where the song ends

but not, we're told, the story,

and we go on reading like there might be

an appendix for what comes

after: laughter, grass in our hair

as all of us stand up again.


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