[Max Goodman]

THE EMPTY SCHOOLYARD

The barren flag clasp clanked against its pole,
[.............................]all else obscenely still,
and every door was locked!
[.....]I’d left work late and scrambled
to get the kids from school. Where were they hiding?
They must be playing round the back. But no,

the schoolyard was as vacant as the school,
[.............................]the peeling wall-ball wall
graffiti’d, blacktop cracked.
[.....]A wind-toppled trash can rumbled
across scuffed hopscotch crucifixes, fading,
and one swing’s rusty chain creaked to and fro.