The children throw dice in the hall,
dice with glow lights in them.
Sharp spits of color.
Clouds in afternoon
And dark early. Bless the birds
Vanishing, ready for bed.
Yo eleven! the girl yells.
Why sing before supper?
Why rattle your throat?
But she burns with happiness,
who usually hates the dark hall.
She makes, and smashes, dice bridges.
Ants never sleep, I once read.
They’re moving down there right now.
Me, I’m freaking out.
Got to relax, make beautiful things.
Think beautiful thoughts.
It can’t be too late.
Plastic rattles, the children scream.
If the dice turned to bone
they’d know and gnaw on them.
Dust flies up their glowing faces,
They are unfailingly polite to each other.
They change grips with their puppy paws.
It’s a dark tunnel they roll in,
dark night, and fixed world,
surging with meanness.