Someone wrote fuck in the snow across
the soccer fields at the primary school—
feet that leapt from huge sign to huge
sign, and then escaped: no trace of virgin
steps departing from the stiff support
of capital K.
                    He must have covered them
or simply ascended above the backstop,
which is where he ended.
                                         It was a boy because
it’s always a boy who loves his mother but cannot
have her and feels compelled to find another.
The power of a girl lies within her showing
boys what else to write, and where salvation
is.
    But back to the field’s deflowered snow…
The curious thing is that neither teacher nor parent
has scrambled the word with heavy boots, or altered
the F to P.
                It has remained into March,
only a trace visible now from the road
when ground breaks through the cover like open wounds.