Sprinkles On The Asphalt

I wrote this one about camp, for camp. I love it, a lot. If you want to know what camp is all about, this is definitely a good place to start.

This also ends the period of my semi-apprenticeship in poetry, after this point is where I really began to dig into what it means to write a good poem, and to be a poet.

"Sprinkles On The Asphalt"

Not one second less than four-teen hours ago, this pavement was bare!

Where O where did all these sprinkles on the asphalt come from?

That question can be answered only by what happened a few seconds less than four-teen hours ago:

One hundred-fifty-plus excited little tweens and teens came screaming up the road:

Whoa they're sure excited about a bunch of silly games and a pointless competition-cheering-high-

low-volume-stick-cutoff-yarn-around-the-wrist-is-our-alliance created only to ensure fun was had the past six days.

Unhindered by such silly thoughts they fly up the the pavement to get their reward for all their hard work those six silly days:

A bowl, Styrofoam, containing two small scoops of plain old vanilla ice cream.

But plain it remains not for long as this throng of excited little tweens and teens begins to decorate and consecrate their reward with all types of ice cream toppings:

Reese's some prefer, or there were also a lot of Maraschino cherries tossed on,
But one topping was thrown on nearly every bowl: sprinkles.

And as one might expect a herd of one-hundred-fifty-plus excited little tweens and teens to do, the sprinkles are inevitably flung and trampled upon the asphalt.

The irony of this situation is...that in just a few seconds later than four-teen hours from the flinging of the sprinkles (and the subsequent trampling of the same),

All the physical proof that will remain to indicate their pure unadulterated excitement and the experiences of the week will be just that:

sprinkles on the asphalt.

All that their counselor--friends invested in them this week, you may seek to find physical proof of, but you will find naught but sprinkles on the asphalt.

The marks their God-creator-lover-friend put on their heart are far from the view of any physical-viewing-device,

Eyes cannot witness or describe the work their Father in heaven has begun in them those six silly days at camp.

Only in the ways they go home to show this work by their works can one work to see the work their good God has begun in them.

Of all the things they have been shown, how God has made himself known by his deeds and his great love, no eye can see and no ear can hear.

So if you're seeking here to see what was done this week, then venture elsewhere you must because the only empirical evidence of this week left here at camp,

is Sprinkles on the asphalt.