Mr Mascellani's Musings

At first, it had been just Boris and John
their bags of marbles, and the circle that someone had chalked
upon the playground floor. They, the boys talked
of nothing but the game-for now it was truly on.
Soon, under a scorching midmorning sun, a crowd gathered around
as the marbles were knuckled, flicked and flung across
that chalked arena. One boy's win would be the other boy's loss.
The game neared its end; the crowd did not make a sound.
In the nursing home, Boris remembered that game.
It happened in 1928 when he was nine years old.

John had won the game, but lost his life that same
year. He died of some sort of bone cancer
that is what Boris had been told.
Those coloured pieces of glass did fly like rainbow dancers.


Marbles: Revision 1:

At first, it had been just Boris and John,
their bags of marbles, and the circle that someone had chalked
upon the playground floor. The boys talked
of nothing but the game-for now it was truly on.
Soon, under a scorching midmorning sun, a crowd gathered around
as the marbles were knuckled, flicked and flung across
that chalked arena. One boy's win would be other's loss.
The game neared its end; the crowd did not make a sound.
In the nursing home, Boris remembered that game.
It happened in 1928 when he was nine years old.
John had won the game, but lost his life that same
year- he died of some sort of cancer-
just a few days short of being ten years old.
Those coloured pieces of glass flew like rainbow dancers.