the first frisbee of spring 

this morn I awoke
to the hum of the song
of the first frisbee of spring
calling me forth
from duvet'd slumber
down dusty stairs
overstepping the morning’s uninvitingly manila-hued mail
and out, out into the morning air
still chilled yet warmed and charming

across Rymers Lane she called me
across Saturday's sunlazy carstrewn streets
and through Florence Park's dewy budding splendour
still wet with promise and gently steaming with earthy sighs

past Larkrise school
now hollow and childless
along two sides of the Boundary Brook Road
fluttering past the bookies on Howard Street she flew

in and out of sun and shade and sun
air chilled and charmed and warming
my body hairs bristled in her wake
bristling through the icy pockets of night-time air
bristling with a wintered but now waking joy
over and along the Iffley Road
she cruised
and now down, down the welcome riverward slope of Jackdaw Lane
to the bumpety football pitches of Meadow Lane
I follow her sound and song

and there
in the cool valleyed lowlands of East Oxford
I catch my first glimpse
of the first frisbee of spring
hovering there
above the penalty box
now dervish and steady and strong
she rises and then she falls
in a gloriously spinning murmur