0000_nativityplay16_8It’s your turn to make the second pot of coffee
let’s take the day off, close the computer, shut our doors
silence the voices who sound awfully like 12 and 13-year-old teens
complaining about losing their homework and pointing fingers
when did we learn not to grow up?
I always thought Huck had a point when he tied his handkerchief on a stick and took to the wild
this is not the Peter Pan kind of childish fantasy
when we talk of growing up and growing down we forget
like Picasso once said in order to render abstract we first need to know the techniques of how to paint
then we choose like the 90-year-old who says screw it I will eat what I want, that’s informed consent
childish however, is the absence of reason and consequence splayed like tired kids exhausted from pass-the-parcel
fluttering like a torn flag over a battle field of this and that
the news isn’t objective the screech of complaints sounding like a hen-house on fire
nobody listens nobody really knows it’s not about fact it’s about opinion and who gargles loudest
I think back to the playground of my youth where twice a flasher showed his bits to the girls and they all screamed
ew it looks like a sausage! I never want to eat meat again! and ran off laughing
it is true, me and Donna plugged the girls outside loos with toilet paper
so Mrs Slug would come and tell us off, mushy peas staining her apron
detention is better when it’s freezing out
we had reason behind our madness
and whilst we didn’t see the folly of flooding the loos back then
or how long it would take with stinking mop and bucket to dry off
we learned our consequence and next time feigned illness to stay by the radiator
oh nurse it’s my head it’s pounding! You do look a little green, here read a book
there is a learning curve
lost to generations who think answers are found in the oracle of computers
and those older folk who try vainly to stay relevant and forget their lessons
we would benefit from observing consequence and seeing it through
rather than a sound bite on TV as we spoon feed ourselves snippets of news
nothing stays long enough to take it in, we’re attention-deficit spinning tops
straining to think
would the chilly air of our playground and the closed doors until after lunch is over
wake us to reality? and if we stepped inside, would we attempt to take with us the lessons
we internalized?
or like the hippies of the sixties do we grow out of phases and give away our flares for business suit to rule the world
is death so onerous that we fear anything but power?
is inconsequence so fearsome we’ll make a splash at any cost?
what of all those we know nothing of? they say history is written by the victor, I think often
of all those who didn’t traditionally ‘win’ anything and what they would write
it is said you are bound to repeat history if you do not know it
but what if the very truth we revere, didn’t get it right?
When I was a kid in the playground I used to wish to grow up so I could
avoid being told when to play and when to learn
not knowing then nothing changes as much as you think
I envied the teachers their staff room where they thought we did not know
they smoked and ate hot cross buns and talked of rumors of the headmaster and
his male deputy
who both wore open toe shoes in Winter and I once asked him when ushered into his office for winning a poetry prize
don’t your toes get cold?
and he said
I do this in remembrance of christ I want to feel what he felt
and that Xmas we put on Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat
the drama teacher said candy you can do backflips can’t you? You can be the queen of the Egyptians
and I never felt so good as that day I wore an old wig I once dressed up and played Kate Bush in
with sequins and blankets stitched into approximation I shook my belly and pretended it contained jewels
the headmaster’s eyes teared up and he stole a look at the young junior who
sang along with our ‘who built the ark?’ louder than us all, dabbing his small eyes with the back of his hand
afterward Clement and I climbed up to the roof playground and on the wire we swung upside down
daring each other to fall knowing we couldn’t
maybe that’s a metaphor for the fear we need to feel
the safety net
of all endeavor
how holding hands with a boy in the dark
briefly I was the queen of egypt and everything seemed so real
in a way it never does now
because not once did I need a search engine to tell me
what I believed was true