eyes wide open
but they're gently shut

vermillion eyelids
and the smell of warm...

dusty dirt-caked hoola-hoops
and birthday barbecue hotdogs,
lines of black and smoke-saturated hair

10-year-olds on roller blades, bicycles, and scooters, dropping f-bombs and kicking pebbles.

suburb golf carts
and splintery playground woodchips
waft through the leafless pencil-like trees

daydreams of sun-naps on the sidewalk,
when we would watch the shadows of ants march across the cracks with driveway-chalk hands...

saying "no no no" with a warning tone
as she tries to lick year-old sticky ice cream stains from the pavement

that new house smell
somehow being better than you remember it

summer's grand re-opening

and we're all here,
then, now, and waiting.