we gorge on rites

it’s a sacred route

grandparent/child walk

through clattering city down Locke St.

where workers tear up concrete streets

machine a giant blade cutting through to nature

cross bridge over

tracks it’s necessary to stop

and pick up small rocks

put them in backpack little

scallops to save for later feast of stones

run up and down

a ramp gaze at the train passing

underneath with all the spring garbage on 

bank and then past the dog park where gnathic

battles are fought with growls and chase and cluster

then there it is

small park with orange slide

age three mind entirely enraptured

he climbs up tall ladder strong legs lifting

and sits                 the slide down undulating

at bottom he gets up

to weave a path back to ladder

up again and down this time saying

bump bump he wears a shiny velour sweater

with orange designs as if he was dressed for this place

run back to ladder

and down bump bump and

back up again this becoming ritual

we gorge on rites wiring our brains in serpentine

structures there is a climbing wall swing set monkey bars

but it’s the slide and we are smiling audience to this holy repetition