Sidewalk Blue

The sun beat down, a bright, hot hand,

on scenes the small ones had so planned.

A dragon here, a flower there,

a hopscotch grid, beyond compare.

Their fingers coated, thick with white,

a temporary, fading light.

I walked the path, where dust still lay,

of yesterday, or just today.

A broken stub, a piece of blue,

a worn-down shape, both old and new.

I picked it up, the fine grit clung,

a silent, simple, childhood song.

The color stained my thumb and palm,

a momentary, quiet calm.

Before the rain, before the cars,

before the city knew its scars,

this transient mark, this easy hue,

a forgotten joy, felt fresh and true.