JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

On a morning such as this we’ll fly

perhaps a quiet sigh escaping lips

that only yesterday learned dates and kings

practiced scales and long division

chewed away at wads of gum and

peanut butter sandwiches without a

single thought to differentiate

the endlessness of morrows

 

On a morning such as this

we’ll pack our crayons, our compasses

and rulers no longer needed to encircle

or to measure arbitrary days and years

and all those mornings in between when

we only pretended, only dreamed of

growing up, of facing the inevitable

 

We’ll chew a last bazooka

adjust our caps and coats

attempt to run again into the wind

those memories of classrooms, marbles

soda pops and kites, bobbing, flying

towards a quiet horizon like emigrating birds

or like some wind-blown clouds