Park Field(s)

A young Puerto Rican girl stumbles out of the shaded forest.
An older woman in slacks is helped up from the pavement...
her bleached blonde granddaughter looking distracted.

There's a padlock on the entrance gate.
A man in a dented Buick questions, then turns back.

So many memories here.

Dad on a hillock,
a mere blot on the fading horizon...
shaggy sideburns and jogging shorts.
Me calling after, "Wait up! Wait up!"
But he's already out of sight,
dipping beneath the monolithic power lines.
There's a buzz like a candy bar crunch,
an eel undercurrent as the foliage burns bright,
then darkens.

Walks 'round the lake with mom,
Tim in a jumper.
The water is stagnant,
isolated pools of scum and lilypads.
We bring stale bread for the mallards and geese,
the largest of which snaps at my fingers.

A winter memory, more folklore than recall...
mom sidling out across the fragile ice,
freeing a trapped duck.

In the summers, trips to the nearby Dairy Queen,
rivulets of sticky milk runing down by hand,
across the butterscotch or cherry cone coat.

Many years later,
a half-day from school. Some idle Wednesday afternoon.
My friends and I running through the woods,
a narrow single-file path...
branches and plantlife scratching at our cheeks.
We come to a slight clearing,
a bubbling brook strewn with rocks and wood planks.
In the middle of which sits a man,
his pants down...his bare essentials massaged by the current.
We scamper past,
fearing to look down.
One-two One two...
mraching back into the safety of trees.

Another winter, during college break...
late-night sledding.
A cobble-stoned tower overlooking a golf course.
Automatic lights from the "green" below give some indication,
but there are pools of sheer black.
I soar into space on a bobbing inflateable tire,
and jettison off an impromptu ramp some prankster's constructed
in the dark.
I land hard, the back of my head striking frosted ground
while my glasses fly.
Although there's a ringing/throbbing/ticking in my head
(for weeks)
and my eyes are dialated
and I vomit when I get home...
I still go to sleep.
The worse thing you can do for a concussion.