At the county lake
two sand castles
brave the wind
on this speck of beach
all the playgrounds
posted for no playing
in this time of contamination

One turreted structure
proudly flies a tiny pennant
in defiance of the pandemic
where hikers park what seems
miles apart before they take
to trails stepping to the sound
of the afternoon freight
plunging northward like
the rest of us into strange wind

Everywhere the smell
of freshly cut grass making
an imaginary landscape
where surely all is well
until suddenly two lads
having emerged sullenly
from frigid water spy
what some little errant
knight or little lady left
before they trundled off
to isolate again

Without hesitation
the twosome stomp
again and again
marauding Mongol hordes
until the castles are but grains
of sand and I can only hope

the young royals do not return
tomorrow or believe the wind
blew waves washing like their tears
I hold myself back from racing
to the scene of such destruction
but ask myself as I would ask them
to what purpose?