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Poem
by Maureen Thorson


He Ate The Sandbox

A swarm of ghosts in Pacman Park. Dreaming
Of past encounters with a fantastic shape —
A waning pie, a martial moon, each new convert
Queries his marshmallow fellows — oh, golly, how did it taste?

Like carrots and icing! Like the battle's details from
The joystick perspective, and there are details
Still unknown to us! Brothers, we've tasted the sweetest cherries,

We've licked the lead paint from the playground swingsets--
We've four-five-sixed the bejesus out of every bench
In this place, but there is one whose hunger outlasts ours . . .

Interruption. A cheese wheel with a chunk removed
Glides over the ballfield. All the ghosties, lurching heavily
With punctuation and Russian dressing, blip after it, sighing
For their love/hate king of hunger, modality for unorthodox taste.