Tag Sestina

At the playground the kids

climb up the slide,

glide down the pole,

dart across the bridge,

and drop off the monkey bars

while playing zombie tag.


Soon we switch to freeze tag

and I chase the other kids,

my fingers reaching through the bars.

We run. We jump. We slide.

I catch someone beneath the bridge

and rush away to the pole.


We race to blue pole.

Last one there is “it” for alligator tag.

I’m the first across the bridge.

One of the other kids,

who’s last up the slide,

is it. I clamber off the monkey bars


to escape the alligator snapping through the bars

and dodge the person around the pole

and dash down the slide.

I’m winning at alligator tag.

I’m the last of the kids.

But I’m tagged beneath the bridge.


Jangle, go the chains of the bridge;

I slip between the bars

cuz I’m a skinny little kid.

I pace circles around the pole

until I lunge out and say “Tag,

you’re it” to the kid on the slide.


This poem is about: 
My community
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