Field day, Port Orchard, and the slate
Sky pours itself out, closing lower field,
The big toy, and eventually even the tetherball pole.
Sequestered Under the covered area, where
On stormy days we lined up, each
Bus line ready to ship off gloomy, noisy
And unavoidably wet. There, only
Hula hoping and jumping rope were
Officially endorsed activities.
On that field day, the black top seeped
With rain water working through
Cracks or slapping off the shoe
Soles of the wet and adventurous
Rule breakers, rushing out when heads are
Turned for the thrill of it.
I stood there, wet hands, jeans,
Shock-headed and dripping: