Playing Outdoors

You know the phrase ‘DUFF?’
I think I have found
The demographic that will understand
Or not. There is Google right there,
I don’t need to tell you
How to find meaning in something
Because I am lost
With my version of it.

Have you seen these best friends?
The ones playing with their toys,
Laughing like joyful monkeys
About what has so amused them.
They know everything.
Not the everything you would know,
Nor the everything I would know,
But the everything of each other.

Nodding, winking, hugging, smiling,
Everything that seems to be
In sync to their friendship.
So why is it,
That whilst they play with their toys inside,
Their other friend decides to play with the mud,
And sees comfort in that,
But still tries to look into the house,
With no key to get inside?

She doesn’t like the same juice,
The same intoxicating poison
Of their lost and found years in adulthood.
She stays out of the same sand boxes,
The same ones the jolt an earthquake
Of strobe lighting and sound
The same ones where these friends bump and grind
Against friends-to-be
And not-to-ever-be.

The music crinkles and cracks
A single person’s ability to cope,
with the shatteringly disruptive noise.
What’s wrong with BublĂ©?
yet she wants to join
Asking herself:
Am I having fun yet?

So the one playing outside
Is silent. And remains silent.
She doesn’t play with the same joys
Or do the same things.
But that’s beside the point.
It’s friendship, a deep and youthful bond.
And if that is so, then why
Are the ones inside not joining
The one playing outdoors?

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