Sports Day Morning On Hackney Downs Park Poem by C Richard Miles

A summer morning and the park is crammed
with fug from funfair and start of sports day
co-mingling almost hand in hand
as in thick blocks folk flock from Hackney.

Last night's gyrating rides and carousels
sit wearily beside the rows of cones
marking out the would-be racetrack
like sundry slim sentries stood to attention.

Blinking lights squint bleary-eyed
at the sergeant-major marshals
corralling plump marquees and gazebos
patiently into perfect placement.

Minibuses disgorge their plethora
of javelins, discus, hurdles and batons
on the near-deserted field
resting gratefully after last night's shoefall.

The saddened sward capitulates
into sullen brown submission,
reluctant to be pounded by a thousand
trainer-clad sweaty feet of schoolkids.

Grass silently groans beside the load
of laden lorries and amusements
waiting for the evening's twelve-tone beat
of pummelling from the funfair's punters.