Wasn’t it just the other day
we were running around during recess
making silly wagers and playing dumb games,
sometimes even leaving fate up to
rock, paper, scissors-

Or was it when we were at lunch
talking amongst our fellow peers
all experiencing the same metamorphosis,
or scheduled angst and confusion,
where we would hide secrets or steal food
unless we were defeated.
Rock, paper, scissors-

It could’ve even been during our final stretch.
Where individual classes felt like days,
or sleep knocked on every hour of instruction,
only to be brushed away by the transition bell.
Where we battled our own will
to stay in bed and sleep in.
Rock, paper, scissors-

But I think I know what it was.
It was the hot spring afternoon
dwindling on the cusp of summer.
It was in the middle of a stadium
assorted into rows which held dozens
of cloaked and capped figures
all anxiously awaiting to be next.
Each row would rise and slowly creep forward.
And for the final time

Rock.
We would shake a commanding hand.

Paper.
We would tip our heads towards our electorate.

Scissors.
We would accept our own individual flower.

Shoot.
And we would finally walk off the stage
free.

© Robert Taylor