rutland park

sticky picnic tables of summer
hold mayonnaise-laden potato salad
that never killed anyone but caused many a frenzy

mayflies hump atop a sultry wind
their days numbered,
once emerged from their aquatic wombs

flip-a-flopping feet stumble on roots
whose gnarled toes poke up
from under satin sheets of brown pine needles

the lake carves its own country
floating ropes define its bustling, splashy capitol
fearless anarchists, slip the lifeguard's watch, pushing the border

bottle caps, dried up minnows, beer can tabs
all the shiny currency winks back at the sun
peddled for a sip of warm soda or a peek under a bikini top

teeny frightened frogs wielded by cracker-crumb-faced boys
add squeals of feigned fear to the chorus of marco polos
muffled slightly by granpappy's public furry chest

these are melon days
the coleman is a war chest
full of ice bullets snuck down unsuspecting backs

moments after waving arms call the pond pirates back to shore
the sun sets, a showboat all the way down
enchanting the chilly towel-draped audience

waterlogged waddlers brush off sandy limbs
before boarding the full-blast heated station wagonship
facing backward, jump seat riders reap the last glimpse