Hide and Seek
Once, north of here, a child played
hide-and-seek. His part was to hide,
ergo he played his role and hid.
The seeker, embarrassed by his role,
thinking it beneath his dignity,
developed instead a personality disorder.
An empty stadium is an indrawn breath.
There hasn’t been a team here in ages.
Futuristic is starting to look very old.
It’s a vast cereal bowl; and in it,
bobbing like a raisin, there’s my childhood.
I’m rooting for the nonexistent team.
Once, west of here, a child fastened
flowers to the pages of a book
and wrote their names in Latin underneath.
This was the pinnacle of mimesis.
The flowers are so brittle now
nobody is allowed to open that book.