The swing set and the slide, to the far side

Of the playground where a sort of mirror (call

It a plane) stood, reflecting whatever

Weather we were under, along with trees

That seemed to reach their leaves into its frame

Like soldiers straining to get their faces

Into the picture. The glare of it drew

Us to it too, along with the challenge

Of climbing it. See, it was pitched at such

An angle (I’d guess seventy degrees),

And made of such purchaseless stuff, that it

Was just hard enough to climb to keep us

Interested. You had to have dry hands

(but not too dry) and the right soles, and you

Had to really want to climb it, or else

It was impossible to get even

Halfway up. It helped if you ran at it,

Catching it at its slothful habit of

Gazing up at clouds, so that, by the time

It noticed you, you’d gotten high enough

To grab the bar that ran along the top,

Hanging there for a moment in triumph

Before sliding back down to earth, smearing

The fingerprints of the more tentative.

I think whoever designed it must have

Been acquainted with failure and wanted

To teach us perseverance. Instead, what

They taught us was that there are faces that

Prefer us cautious, that we must surprise.