Recess

why don't we still have recess as adults?

Eager feet and flailing arms spill
from the golden halls onto the brittle-white fields.
Shrieks of delighted panic and freedom fill the crisp, December air.
Streaks of yellow, blue, and khaki,
punctuated by short-lived phantoms,
clouds of exhaled exuberance, criss-cross the landscape,
changing directions, churning in organized chaos,
flashing happily as they give chase to equally speedy brethren.
Youth speeds and slows and stops and sprints,
contorting and writhing,
lungs aching, to escape the reach of the One,
deemed so by random chance or nimble misfortune,
who wears an invisible badge marking Him or Her
different from all others.
And, through burning breath and squeals of terrified bliss,
every so often outstretched fingers find their mark,
and proclamations can be heard in sing-song harmony:
You’re it!

© Jeff Wilson, 2008