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 manila-hued mail
and out, out into the morning air
still chilled and cool and charming

across Rymers Lane she called me
along Saturday's sunlazy carstrewn streets
through Florence Park's dewy budding splendour
still wet with promise and gently steaming with charming dreamy 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
now cold now warm now warming
my body hairs bristling in the ripples of her wake
shimmering through shady pockets of nocturnal air
tingling with well-wintered but now vernal joy
along the Iffley Road
she cruised
and then down, down the welcome riverbound slope of Jackdaw Lane
to the bumpety football pitches of Meadow Lane
I followed her sound and song

and there
in the cool misty lowlands of east Oxford
I caught my first glimpse
of the first frisbee of spring
hovering there
above the penalty box
dervish and steady and strong
she rose
and then she fell
in such gloriously spinning murmur