Paper Snow Ball Fight

Standard

Grown ups gather on one side of the room

Youth on the other, small and large,

Glad and gleeful, preschool

to  highschool, waist high

to sky high, all helping

Each other.

Each of us gathers to our chest

a clutch of paper snowballs, two years

of recycling smashed into

tough, round balls, like eggs

we tend and nurture,

And toss with force and abandon,

Wild and true.

 

Kurt unleashes the first volley,

Moving in on the kids with a twinkle

Behind his glasses,  his belly

A shield bouncing balls back

Like a secret weapon.

Evan dashes out to the front,

Five-year-old eyes shining like a warrior,

his hands scooping and tossing, scooping

and aiming, rocketing forward like a launch pad,

sending balls soaring with true finesse.

I hide behind the barricade

of an overturned  table, unsure

Of how I feel about children

Acting out their aggression against elders,

Until I see our faces reflected

In the window, old, happy,

Lighted by delight,

Released to recess,

Kids again

Each year, for the annual

paper snow ball fight.

 

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