Hopscotch

I throw my stone trying to hit the square.
That is the hardest part of the game.
My agility is such that a one foot hop,
A precarious balance as I reach for my token,
Or a strategic moment that reminds me that
a two-footed jump is required are child’s play
to this middle-aged player.

I’ve drawn the court in the firm sand
with aid of a stick and an unsteady hand.
The irregular squares, rectangles, triangles
and domed cat’s cradle add an extra layer of challenge
as does the wild wind that blows markers off target
and erases the sand-drawn lines long before
my possible elimination.

I tell you to use a stone not a shell as weight
is a necessary advantage in this game.
You opt for beauty over substance and a
gust throws your mollusk marker off course.
As I count the squares and finish the game
you cry as the sand blows into your eyes.
I swallow the need to win and become your
mother once again.

© Kelly Tweeddale 2012

Author of the blog Running Without Toenails, follow me on Twitter @ktweed

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