a tennis court sunset
one more
you would call out
I was already expecting to hear it
every day the same time, we played
a father I met a summer ago
he was good
so good
he made me good too
I loved that about us
it's the only thing I can say we still have
that memory I just told you about
he pushed me
he made me run all over the place
he beat me
over
and over
and... over again
And, I loved every minute of it
I wish I could have
just...
one more

8:40, nineteen ninety... something
I'm in a random cozy hamlet in Newfoundland
on a busline from somewhere 
heading to somewhere else
 that made a stop five minutes ago
the people who got off are smoking
some are gone to pee, I'm sure
I had to at the last stop
travelling strangers grabbing chip bags
pop cans
various candy
unlucky scratch tickets
stale coffee and half decent donuts
the bus window is cold against my bored forehead
rocking back and forth waking me up
and cooling me down
from no AC and cabin farts
as if in a signalling moment the big bus hissed
did in my simple peripheral
spot a black cat on a white patio chair
watch for but a second
as a brown rusty sign hangs on for its life
swinging against a summer night breeze
there he is
like the one in every tiny town
the local who says hello to everybody
trys to shake hands
while nodding all the time with a grin
dressed in all demin
wearing a ball cap 
full of finger print oil stains
with a broken peak
I hear the name Kenny repeated
must be him
great smile he had
then
the booms and thuds of the luggage compartments
falling into place
then my seat suddenly shakes from a "hands pulling motion"
it annoys me a little 
new passengers settle in seats nowhere near me
bonus
I listen as the fares are quoted by the driver
I guess how far they are going by the price
like an are we there yet game
whispers dull to a silence
the lights go dim
no more marked trail to back or front with tiny lights
hiss and hiss of the brakes
the door is pulled shut
hiss and hiss
eyeballs stare in the rearview
they are on
we are off
8:50

over the hillside
past the big tree with the swing
to find old summers

melting away like an ice cream in summer
did I go to a happy place
colouring the world around me
with a palette of June, July, and August
kicking dust up off the dirted roads that I wandered
rolling in grass that always made me itch
remembering the hot sands between my toes
how salty the ocean tasted when I dunked my brave self under
when the sun got hot, I stayed still
stared at puffy clouds
watched insects go about their day
captured speckled backs in a cold stream
rode my bike all over the place
even with skinned knees
in this time 
I can still feel that breeze of another
that made the hairs on my arms stand up
toward a summer sun
reaching at my face
guiding me toward adventures
of carnivals and caves
of good guys against bad
falling down, falling over
as we faked it all with imagination
the best thing about summer is when comes
it brings with it warmth and smiles
makes you run and laugh inside
turns you young again
in times of summer
in summer times

look at the sun, right there
going down over the hill
at the edge of the ocean
the same as it did that day
when I smelled summer flowers
for the very first time
standing where birds sang, but not for food 
to tell us how beautiful it was
and we should watch
I remember the forest too, 
from which we had come
the trees, and...
how they didn't want us to leave
knowing we didn't want to go
by surrounding us with their scent of evergreen everywhere
we picked tiny needles from the fascicles along the way
as we ducked their branches and cracked a few of them that had fallen down
was the best we could do to hang in that moment
 still staying the course on the boggy trail toward civilization
from our childish play
from our childlike adventures
lazy strides at first
until we got to the grassy knoll
then we had to go a little faster than we were
for soon someone would be calling for us
their voice getting higher and louder
blaring against the hillside in warning 
because the dark was coming to capture small boys
although, by now, we would have reached the field
as we timed it, with enough light to guide us
past the old the dog who was deaf and blind
over a thatch fence that gave tiny hands splinters if you were not careful
ten year old friends breaking off in their own directions
until they reach their paths to home
tired for bed, ready for dreams
of doing it all again tomorrow...
 and the day after...
...and the day after that
just before the summer sun disappears