A Poem in the Before Choice Disturbs collection


It was warm and sunny today.
In the playground I watched
the children go up and
down on the swings.
Some faced each other;
were in rhythm. In Time. The march
in their heads.
Children on swings
like prepubecsent sex.

Here they learn all
the rules. Like who's the most fun
to make drop to the ground
and say 'Uncle'.

Those wonderful places of yesteryear. Covered in soft sand and adorned with those paragons of childhood entertainment; Monkey bars, Merry-go-round, and the classic Slide. The playground was often host to the sort heady pre-teen activities that you never quite shake loose from your memories. Hide-and-go-seek, Marco Polo, Rock throwing, these are the pastimes of our past times.

Who can forget busting their chin open going down the slide head first; or spinning on the merry-go-round till nausea was induced and the inner ear was permanently damaged; or being pushed off the top of the monkey bars by little Suzie Wilkins and breaking your leg, all because you tried to kiss her while she wasn't looking.

Unfortunately for today's generation of scamps, someone has decided that play grounds are dangerous, consequently they are becoming more safe and less fun. The sand and concrete are being replaced with soft, cushiony foam stuff. The slides are no longer steel but plastic. Gone are the log structures and rope bridges.

Fortunately, children are equipped with an active imagination and I am sure they will persevere. In the years to come I imagine that they will complain just as hardily about their precious plastic slides being replaced with new, frictionless air cushions that don't make your hair stand on end with static charge.

Change is always resented and the grass is always greener.

Play"ground` (?), n.

A piece of ground used for recreation; as, the playground of a school.


© Webster 1913.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.