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Glenn Wright
Recess
“As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods.
They kill us for their sport.”—Shakespeare
Set free, the children play across the grounds.
Girls jump rope; the sun and breezes call.
Frenzied boys cavort around a ball.
They fill the air with sweet, soprano sounds.
A few of them are gathered by the fence,
kneeling, huddled, watching something small.
Some drama holds their interest. They are all
focused. Their silence and the way they tense
as I come up behind them on my rounds
tell me that they have wandered out of bounds.
I recognize the scorching in the grass,
the tortured ants, the magnifying glass.
Even the most angelic-seeming child
makes sacrifice to spirits wicked and wild.
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