A wash of swallows against the dark gravel sea
ushers in the close of winter. Inside, the sighs
of waitresses hang themselves on the coat hooks
attached to the booths of the Shoreside Family Diner-Restaurant.

Outside, schoolchildren chase each other, crunching gravel
under galoshes, scurrying towards the swings in the lot.

Church bells strike,
brushing skyward the dark splash of swallows
that returned to feed in the children's wake.

Laughter spills out, dark and rich
behind that rust-pocked bus, abandoned
in this playground graveyard parking lot.

The gravel field reflects waves of heat, pouring up,
hazy and wet, into the gray sky. The boiling
coffeepots tip the frustrations of the diner patrons over the edge
of the counter-top to splinter into shards
on the checkerboard floor.

Their discontent-constant as the long-closed mill,
dissipates into a cloud of gray mist that washes over
the stainless walls. The children scatter through the yard
until the shrill bell calls them in.