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Boys Working at Their Play
By Don Iannone

Ordinary little boys,
with dirty hands and faces,
playing kickball in the backyard,
The chubby dark-haired one is shy,
He waits too long and misses his turn, again,
I feel his pain, because
I know it will last a lifetime,
The muscular blonde-headed boy
takes his turn, and others
if they linger too long,
The whole world hinges
on whether you play well,
not whether you have fun,
The boys work at playing,
It hurts me to see them struggle,
like their tired frayed fathers,
with bitter illusion and emptiness,
Eventually their over-worked hearts
will stop beating before their time,
If only it were fun,
Maybe they all would live longer.

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