Summer evening sun fades to gold,
Slipping behind large many handed maples
Standing as sentinels.
Cool bleached park beckons the unshaded city.
It's soothing breeze relieves
Sweaty, sticky bodies
Sends maple hands clapping a rattling song.
Tibetan yellow robes
Sit, watch, chant, find solace in the symphony.
Pick-up game on blacktop
Jump, run, yelling, cursing sounds as percussion
Like bass drums and symbols.
Rastafari dreads in black basketball shoes,
Stands alone in their midst.
In the far field frisbee gives way to kick ball.
Dogs on leash add their barks to the city sounds.
The whir of bicycles,
Giggles of small children,
Unheard conversations.
This is Portland funky
And this is Portland weird.
This is Portland’s street song
And Portland’s summer symphony.