Today the ice rink is deserted in favour of that other court,
where rubber grips and squeals as nimble feet lunge and lift,
and rowdy boys cheer a swish.
They know what to do with Spring’s first fairytale day
But judging by the ice-cream truck, they are not alone;
Young — and youngish — twirl vanilla topped-wafer cones
liking to disappear in the light white cream of the moment.
We all have scored,
Even those on the grass without a net,
who laugh and misdirect new volleyballs.
For all, a calm wind stays the rush indoors,
while sunlight rewards those who soak it up
on its final pass over the city’s west side.
And who can think of going home?
Let the sun set and give us night, then
Give it moms and pops and their little tots;
Give it friends and neighbours and even strangers,
for all well want the night
even those south of the court, barefooted and
hop-scotching on Jenna’s sun-dappled cobbles.
But while they too get warm and tucker out,
others rally to the fire pit’s hefty stone seats
for the folk singer is already strumming his guitar,
Which, with dusk, calls women in colourful skirts
to prance by the crackling fire, like 70s pop stars.