New Years Poem
The boy stomps in his boots
in his serious play as he destroys
snowballs as he lands two feet on one ball
spraying his lone lot
with his snow-dusted gusto
his own top spins so futile so fun
as the adults inside
huddle rubbing their so-so heads
what if futile were duly stomped
to iridescent dust if we spun it as
play primal alternate utility
if the year’s futility is just
the year’s futility the plaything
given by the planets, mountains, trees
to be teased into life and strife
lightly it can be other will be
other it will be flux let our play
begin again
“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter.
Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” —
Samuel Beckett