Dandelion Patch by the Elementary School, Early May, 7:50 a.m.
They pluck them from the ground and smash
Them soundlessly on another’s head or back
What floats off their violence like a helicopter’s
Skeleton? Lighter than an elementary school
Morning. Directionless as a flying fifth grader.
Wish wands are what they call them. Why would you break
A wish on a boy’s stubborn neck as he tries to twist
Away? On the shoulder of the girl who’s too fast
For you to catch? They don’t wait for the fractured
Moon to pop free of its stem. When the field grows
Quiet I look up at the great yellow flower. If I wait
Long enough it will turn white and fragile against
The dark. I’ll meet you at the base of its hollow
Column, or wait till the wind dismisses me.