Devils Playground

We smiled, as we jumped. Played, and forgot about everything, about nothing. I knew it was something. The beautiful grass never stopped growing down there in the devils playground. Swung not only from those plastic swings, but from the worn old ropes hanging from the monkey bars. Still a giggle, still naive. The mothers called to us to come home, to come back, but once you're there, the fun can never end. The dirt mounds, rising to the sky, bury secrets, bury innocence. The sun broke its smile, when it would look down upon this field. Confused and flustered, it could only hide behind the clouds, and count to one hundred. But no one ever found it. Tag, used to be so fun, there. A smack on the shoulder, a shriek of "YOU'RE IT!" and a sprint. But the barbed wire that rested around us would always catch us, seeming to turn into a snake and reminding us with a sharp squeeze to Sit, Stay. The onlookers would toss in Oreos, and Peanut Butter sandwiches to calm us, and encourage us. Too afraid to join the fun, they would stand by the fence, and grow old from remembering, and not living. Occasionally, in despair, an onlooker would leap into the cage, laughing maniacally, trying to join. We young ones would look up into their clouded eyes, and carelessly trip them into the sinking sand. Girls jumped rope together on the short paved squares, pigtails flapping them away into a world of their own. Recited the same old rhyme over and over again, laughing together when one would slip, and would start again. "We laugh and play, every day. You watch and wave, and always crave. How many days until you're brave? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5......"1