Playground

Watch us go to the park,
plastic tires of your big wheel
clattering on the pavement,
shop windows, groceries,
bus stops and benches,
through fence slats
houses click by.

At the playground
we climb the slide,
the earth below
peeking up through holes
in the metal stairs
and the clouds swinging back and forth
in the big sky.
On top we look out
over the whole park,
the lawns bright and green,
the picnic tables laid out in rows of three,
the bandstand, a smooth curved shell
with empty seats waiting
for an audience.

You slide down first
and I hear your voice,
thin, high,
calling back to me.
I'm next
and, by the time I reach bottom,
you're gone.