Afternoon

The sparrow that can fly against such wind
Deserves a spot in memory’s museum.  
Likewise the sunbeams on the bedroom blind,
Slanted just so, a light preserved from autumn,
Intruding its chill upon mid-June.
As school lets out for good, I hear the cheering
Over rooftops of the kids at noon
Set loose through double doors and spinning
Like struck marbles, and because I have grown
Bent, into the man I am, I hear it
As lament. The seeds of grief are sown
Abroad on this wind, to coat and animate
The ground beneath these giddy girls and boys
Perched like sparrows on the playground toys.