Playground

My parents left me in a very
Strange playground.
Young assassins swish high
On swings, stabbing heaven

With plastic knives pilfered from
Birthday parties in cemeteries.
One of them slices the sun,
Making it so bright

With fury that
Pilots and skydivers chisel
Away their own eyes!
A prepubescent serial killer

Poisons tiny, talkative girls
With his cooties, then buries
Them in the sandbox:
Only their braids stick out.

In the crisscrossing shadow
Of the jungle gym, budding
Peeping Toms gaze into tree holes,
Eavesdropping on the pillow talk

Of millipedes and the hilarious way that
Praying mantises go on romantic dates
That end with the male getting devoured.
And look, it’s the boy who told his teacher

He wants to be a hangman,
But can’t even tie his own shoes!
And what’s going on by the fence,
Where aspiring psychos

Use strands of grass
To blow tunes so forlorn
And lovely they go crazy?
I try not to listen, but if I don’t,

I won’t know what’s beautiful.
And if I do, I’ll go crazy
And no one will believe me
When I tell them about beauty.