Games

Children play-pretend they're adult

playing dead

because there's nothing else to do

every day

at four on the

gameless playground

mirror shards beaming

like a sniper's red dot on the forehead

killing on sight

no cover, even in the dark of

the abandoned shack –

recreational death

mimicking that outside

the other one the adults play

and can't stop talking about

dismembering locusts

recreating death

because pain is not felt

but it feels good to bring it

– heck yeah it does –

perhaps even going as far as

dancing around the carcasses

because rituals have to start somewhen

and all those black threads

covering everything

all stemming from the one broom –

children feel like witches

riding the dark night –

it covers the sounds

muffles your footsteps

no-one can hear you or

the kite-runners of Karachi

– we know what happens to kite-runners:

they either get caught or thunderstruck –

children hopscotch from earth to heaven

sometimes on shards of botched buildings

crudely chalked on the patched playground

the game is avoid stumbling

over the pitfalls, over the graves –

to be underground is to be forgotten

if only until after the living's to return –

no children game is ever innocent

and the adults play-pretend children

contradict in terms:

children playing grown-ups

and adults pretend they're Peter Pans

because too much reality isn't fun, right –

the preferred oblivion of

a doll which will obey our every wish

a delirious dance in a nightclub

the costumed thrill of a carnival

no game is ever innocent

aiming at some lower point

the elusive in-between

where everything comes to life –

sometimes a squeaking, squawking bike

endlessly circling in a closed patio

and a little imagination is all it takes

– but is that even innocent now –

Exposition “Jeux, rituels et récréations”, Gare Saint-Sauveur, Lille, 2017