AFP photo
By
Lianne Kamp
Trapped On The Playground
In the fall of the fourth grade I was cornered
on the playground – shoved against a brick wall,
her hands slapping me in rapid succession while
the words ugly and stupid spit from her mouth
and flew into my face
her groupies laughed from the sidelines
for no other reason than I was an easy,
awkward target and she was queen of the
playground – and I was destined to turn up
day after day
Now, in this September fall decades later,
I am cornered once again between playground
bullies – this time I am not alone, but one
in a crowd of faceless millions backed
against the wall
while they spit out insults and threats from
different ends of the courtyard, daring and
double-daring – a global pissing contest with
ballistic consequences – we are destined
day after day
to wonder where we will find shelter
when their madness finally rains down
on all our heads and the heads
of all our children and
all their unborn dreams
Lianne Kamp
I came to Boston many years ago to write poetry. Although I never abandoned poetry altogether, life had different plans for me. I have rediscovered the importance of writing and over the last year have been published in a number of Prolific Press journals. Mainly, I write poetry to make my world more panoramic by watching it more closely.