August [Poetry]

The park quiets, the fields are dry.
and sand blows in your eyes.
Kickball games canceled, tennis balls lighten in the wind.
Colored paper blows off decorating the chain link fence.
It is August and it’s hot, we move across the street
to the grassy shaded traffic island where the big kids hang out.
We watch them play cards Whist, Hearts, and Poker for big spenders.
They swear and smoke cigarettes.
We giggle at words we’re not allowed to say.
Back in the park we try swinging to blow the heat away.
Success is making the bars shake in their foundation.
Although we soar to great heights
we don’t shake the bars or the heat.
We come home often looking for food, money, and something to do.
The ice-cream truck comes at four
in just enough time to ruin our suppers the mothers say
Sweaty faces and “pretty pleases” show the desperation
and we get Popsicles, choose one five flavors, five cents each.
Our mothers can’t wait for us to go back to school!

Written by Eileen Hugo, Stoneham, MA

CTA travel

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Pat Bonner milone says:

    THAT brought back memories. Roving the neighborhood with friends, looking for excitement. Big kids were always exciting. The ice cream truck was a highpoint if we had some change.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. zorinafrey says:

      If the ice cream truck came through my apartment complex right now, I’d get excited!

      Like

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