Thursday the 12th [from “The Week,” a series of 7 poems leading up to Friday the 13th]


Thursday the 12th

Who stood there for so long
Between the road and the paved walkway

On the unmown grass as each child streamed by?

At ease, or mostly, for the prints are deep, and a casual
Shoulder width apart. Long there he stood, and not prepared

To run; yet the edges slur the grass as if he shifted
Weight from foot to foot, contained energy reined

By watchfulness. So he stood guard.

In the far corner of the school field
While morning did undizzy circles

in children’s shoes, each trip around
that gear of laughter pulleying the sun a few

Minutes higher up the year’s first flawless sky.

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