I mourn the loss of children
persuaded to leave behind
play. These ex-children find
themselves curating CVs.

The life of the mind includes
stretched limbs, taxed lungs, and laughter --
and skinned knees, and loss, after
games they were told were pointless.

Smart kids smart, right? We all do. 
And at some age, we remove
recess & add time to prove
they listened to what was said

room to room, seated hours
of focused planned course content.
To be a prepared student
is to daily reconcile

oneself to a health hazard: 
“Sitting is the new smoking”.
Learning kills – I’m not joking.
It doesn’t kill what it should.

I hope students gain closed minds:
Closed to lazy ideas, 
to bad faith logorrhea.
I hope we take them outside.

Years ago, I did. One kid
said, “I … I don’t remember
how to play.” But an ember
was fanned by his closest friends

goofing on the monkey bars.
He joined them. Nobody fell.
Not once did I think to tell
them to be careful. They were

in some kind of awakened
flow. And then the block ended,
they dusted off, grinning, said
thanks for a great day of class. 

He’s a photographer now.
Out in the world, wide open
eyes, no thought of that day when
he swung bar to bar. The sun

kaleidoscoped on us all. 

Written in community with VerseLove, a group of mostly educators writing a poem every day of April (National Poetry Month). The prompt for today: Write a poem about play.