a boy-child, thin as smoke and ash
slamming his green plastic bucket
over a red-shelled crab, arthropod
legs scrambling madly for a sandy foothold.
a girl shout, pushing the door shut,
crisp white paint peeling
with a sharp crack just as the sun-god
reached his lanky foot inside,
stretching across the dusty wood floor.
He shrieks in pain at the shock
as she laughs, piercing, fingers in mouth
teacher sliding the rolled blind down
over the long window, casting the room
into squinting darkness in a last-ditch attempt
to shut out the distracting peals of laughter
stealing their way in from the day outside.
every moment of spare time
searching for lost slivers of the sun.
Long days are coming, yes they are
and I would slip them all into a jam jar,
label and stow them on a high kitchen shelf
until they hatch.
April 27, 2009