A summer slope

Far off from fast cars on slow summer streets,

atop a green and shallow sloping hill,

three dusk-lit culprits chafe the evening cool

And near quiet gasps pierce the dusky still

Vacant chairlift looms above our huddle

Nary a ski or boot among the crew

We hike against the winter downward route

To where the fireflies pierce a starry blue.

A trolling cruiser stealths the lot below

Poised, the picnic party parties on

And “Keep Out” jangles weary on its post

Our day of merrymaking not yet gone.

But who are fences made to thwart?-not we-

Who run the winter hills this summer eve.