The Playground

The Street Lights

Gaze down.

The Moon

Is High.

The Streets

Are damp

From

The Rain.

On the Sidewalk

Past the

Intertwined

Steel Cages.

Past the Slide

And the Jungle Gym.

Past the Sprinklers

And the Basketball Court.

Sitting

On a Swing

A Teenage Mother

With a Bloodstained Dress

And a mane of hair

That is ragged

And tormented

Which covers most

Of her face.

Is Rocking Herself

Back

And forth

With a bundle

Of blankets

In her arms.

Cradled

In her Arms

In the Bundle

Of Blankets

Is her Baby.

Humming to It

Soothing It.

Yet Noticeably

The Baby

The Newborn

Isn’t Responding.

The Environment

To the Mother

Is quite Dead.

Tears

Fall down

Her cheeks

While glancing

And looking around.

Looking for

Hope.

The Echoes

Of Children Playing

Can be Heard.

To Hope

For a sign

Of life

In the Infant

Which will

Never come.

Praying

For the Innocence

To Return

When perhaps

It is a time

To accept

Reality.

To let go

And move on.

The Echoes

Of Childhood’s

Laughter

Can be Heard

On the Jungle Gym

Even though

That it is in

The Dead

Of the night.

The Former

Teenage Mother

Rocks

Back and forth

Gently

On the swing.

Hoping

To Find

Some type

Of Comfort.

In the Playground

Where Childhood’s Laughter

Is a mere

Hallucination.

The Former Mother

Rocks

Her newborn

Back and forth

Humming to it.

The tears

Seep

From her eyes.

It is better

To move on.