Sitting in Fold-Up Chairs

Sitting in fold-up chairs
behind the old brick municipal center
that once was an elementary school —

where paint is chipping from windows and
a cluster of two-by-fours and plywood
leans awkwardly against the battered dumpster —

we sip coffee from styrofoam cups and
watch our lives run,
exhorting our children with shouts
through an early autumn breeze,
as if the result of the game
meant more than a Saturday morning.

The first leaves flutter to the ground
out of a cobalt sky
as we turn momentarily
away from the field
toward idle conversation.

5 thoughts on “Sitting in Fold-Up Chairs

  1. Francina

    where paint is chipping from windows and
    a cluster of two-by-fours and plywood
    leans awkwardly against the battered dumpster –

    super lines in a beautiful poem..
    groetjes, Francina

    Reply
  2. Eric Tonningsen

    How many times have we been there? Those moments of comparatively nothingness. In life’s scheme, they are too often fleeting and seem insignificant when in reality, they are everything. Thanks for the beautiful, vicarious visit.

    Reply

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