A stone-faced relic
On the upper west side
79th Street and Central Park West exactly
It's home to
A troop of fireflies
Without fail they shine
On the lawn and trees
Spilling out onto the streets
To delight us
I remember when I would
Run after them
And hold them hostage
In jars with punctured lids
They announce summer
Recall youth and frivolous times
Skipping and laughing
With slices of watermelon and Yoohoo
Smelling of barbecue and chlorine
Feeling pink and plump
With pigtails, smiling
