for a brief time playing in the fresh
afternoon at Dinosaur Park. The trees
were tall, like a forest, with no limbs
or leaves until far above your head.

Beams of sunlight shot through the leaves
like tiny spotlights on three climbing frames:
a stegosaurus, a brachiosaurus, and a pterodactyl.

I ran to the swings just when a girl arrived
with strawberry red hair and blue eyes
wearing a shirt that read, “You love me because
I’m Irish.” She was quiet and shy
and a year or two older than me.

I was too short to get on the swing,
so she lifted me onto the seat
and pushed me, then we ran to the climbing frames.

I thought we could be best friends
but her dad called her to eat. So, we said goodbye,
and I watched her walk to the pavilion.

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Billy Thrasher is a graduate of the MFA program at Lindenwood University. He writes at home, the coffee shop, the park, and in his car during lunch breaks. The simple, brief moments in life catch his attention and spark his creativity. He has written works published in Dovecote Magazine, White Wall Review, Dunes Review, Rougarou, Outlook Springs, and Here: A Poetry Journal, among others, and received a Pushcart nomination from Hive Avenue Literary Journal.