Ezra Molitor

outside on the sports ground 

boys are playing football 

with winter hats and shorts above knees 

they roll around in snow, run like crazy 

each time someone falls 

the frost bites at their skin, it burns  

so then they run faster 

to get warm again 


we´re talking second wave post world war literature 

for a moment I lose track of the game 

 because there´s a book that talks about a class just like ours  

where four boys get dragged out 

and killed 

for a silly drawing they made 

outside someone screams 

but I don´t turn my head 

I listen 


soon, the game ends with a draw 

the snow starts falling again 

it´s winter as I remember 

wet and cold and starving 

we are as I remember 

I hate to see us falling 

but it grows on me, eventually 

and maybe, next year, when we´re gone 

far away from this place 

I´ll like what I remember