brass quintet pumping away
little kids always in the very middle of the crowd
running, with their arms way up
into the palest blue of blues mountain air
late afternoon sun stretched out
like a big scruffy dog
belly cooling over the bricks
now the band shifts to a gentle oompah
a dalmation watches
his owner pump up his bike tire
in time with the music.
from my collection of poems
“Looking for Hymn”