I wandered through

a schoolground today

filled with little people

playing, laughing, oblivious bliss



I saw a child

laying in dirt

having leaves and bark

kicked upon her



I stopped, gently telling

the child to cease kicking.

The group froze and looked

like I was Authority.



“She won’t let me play”

said the kicker of dirt.

The other responded

the game was for two, never three



I spoke to them, and

solved their problems.

Their tiny faces angled upwards

listening...attending my words



I wondered why

they cared what I said,

or even listened to me

at all.



As I left them,

knowing they watched, I realised

I would not be accepted, and

to them, I am old.



I am a grown-up.

A force, a knowledge

Of unfathomable years

Like their parents and teachers.



So I looked mirrorward

And saw circles of darkness

Beneath myopic brown eyes

Saw folds of skin they call wrinkles



A real-bodied woman

Full breasts, broad shoulders

A waist the same height

As the tops of their heads.



How silly to be shocked

By this daily vision

I have obviously ignored

Since... I don’t know when.













Damn kids.