Parks of England

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Despite 'Brexit', there are still a few things the English can be proud of...parks, for one.

 

Pollen scented halos

float on tin music

played from under

pop-up gazebos

(providing insurance

against dark clouds

blotting the horizon).

Light dims and glares

as the sun plays peek-a-boo

with infants running

to no end.

 

Pram junkyards,

picnic islands;

the territories of the

green and daisy-dotted land.

Balls thumped with bass notes

in wrong directions;

dads run after toe-poked

spheres into the road.

Trees watch from the edges;

a shallow forest leading

to suburbia, where the balls,

gazebos, children are stored.

 

Dogs. Oh, the dogs.

This is their land, of course.

They make the rules

and pull their clothed

owners like staggering drunks

into the deep of the park.

 

A man jogs past.

A bike rings it's bell.

A laugh wins the

battle of decibels.

A plastic bag rustles

in the exhaling wind.

The daisies vibrate

and reach to leave their

grassy bed.

But they are part of the park.

May they never leave.

May England remain this

way in memories forever.

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