by Pat Saunders

kookaburras sang in far eucalypts
her head leant back
rang out, across the oval
a nervy hand found her hip
eyes closed waiting

mission brown brick dusted her hair
Lynx-diluted sweat
filtered through vents
high above her head
muffled, echoed urgent calls
thumps, bumps
a thudding ball
high pitched squeaks
sliding Nikes’
the clattering ring
a miss

bags discarded at our feet
fingers curling
intertwined tight
falling into her
soft, quiet lips