Spin

Yesterday Jax and Lang ran
laughing all the way into my gut again
catching and throwing a frisbee in the park.
When the grass is fresh cut, it lays down in clumps
and poofs into the air with each step
releasing that green scent
the one that smells like summer.
Folks walking dogs stop to chat
about the coyotes who live in the scrub
and the occasional poster for a "missing cat"
that never goes found. We step among rabbit pellets
but it's too small a park for deer.

It's my favorite part of the day
(except for the skeeters)
lining orange cones 5 yards apart, putting them
through the paces to teach them Ultimate Frisbee.
They only grumble a bit at the sit-ups and pushups
lunges and footwork, more so at the sprints.
I'll be the Pied Piper with plastic discs
paid in smiles and watching them grow
knowing how that spins back the dark
mine,
theirs, setting goals and scoring them.

One dad paused, wanting to bring his own 13 year old
home-schooled boy to join, and maybe ask the new boys
who just moved in, maybe the soccer girls next door,
all of them to gallop like meteors across the sky
and flash teeth like suns. He doesn't get out
much to socialize, maybe it'd be good
for him to meet other kids his age
he suggests. I encourage, Bring him, them,
next time, it'll be good.

Maybe it'll be enough to keep
the roughest part of growing up
from spinning out of control
maybe it'll keep them
from pictures on a poster that's never found