Bradbury Park Poem by Peter Black

The Sun always made rings in Bradbury park
Spaces in between the trees that glowed white hot
And the sand could blister out open feet;
I would meet Jimmy, Jerry and Ramone,
To smoke cigarettes where the concrete formed
Causeways under cheaply made colonnades
That led towards the fields for baseball games,
Where bats swung swish and rang metal songs,
We would call to the girls walking along
The paths, how each of us could love them best,
Stubbing our burnt out butts on the benches.