Somewhere in Ridgewood a school-aged kid is kicking a soccer ball against a fence. 8 inches beyond that fence is a tombstone, one of thousands at a cemetery that neighbors the playground where the kid kicks the ball. It is an interesting visual, one that screams of some unexpressed metaphor. What does it mean that a young person is kicking the snot out of a soccer ball at a fence that barely separates the muscular, coarse action from the serenity of a burial site, and its seemingly wayward tombstone? Does the stone feel the slings and kicks of the soccer ball, even though it never actually strikes the stone? Does the kid kicking the ball feel he is sending a message to the obstinance of death, that no matter when it comes for him he will have kicked it senseless, if only metaphorically, since the fence never gives way, never allows the soccer ball to strike and slowly wear away the tomb. It is happening now, as I write these words. Everything is happening now.
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