I can’t play out today,

there is no use knocking at my door

and asking if I am free

and then slyly suggesting I lend you my ball

for I know I won’t get it back

as it will be booted at some point

into a neighbours garden

and I will get the blame for it breaking the glass

of their greenhouse, the shards of that fallen

glass murdering several tomato plants and a prize

cucumber, green blood dripping from its

dying form, riga mortis ensured.

 

I cannot play out today,

my bike is locked up in my dad’s garage

and the music will today go unheard,

my stereo on silent,

the only tunes being delivered

in my head and the repeated programmes I want to

watch in colour

in my imagination;

but then again

I don’t even want to turn that infernal beast on,

nor any other beast you can name.

 

I will not play out today,

of that I am making a stand

because if I don’t

I might not come

out and play with you tomorrow

and I do like to play with you.

But today, oh today, it shames me

and I will feel aggrieved for it,

I will truly hate myself for giving in

but I will not play today, I am going to make this day empty

and quiet, to save the future

I must not play today.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015