That Parking Lot
The cold concrete ground,
polka dotted with the spat out gum
waiting for a familiar chirp
where the blue tire swing would twirl
beside that cut down tree
with the early cherry blossoms
The rumble and beeping
The screeching brakes
If I could’ve known to visit
one last time before
the yellow caution tape
decorated the playground square
Painted metal containers
trapped inside white barriers
laughter filled everyone
with sand underneath her fingernails
waiting in line for that metal slide
too hot to touch
before the children were warned
to stay away
from the swings,
from the slides,
from the seesaw,
from the playground
because of that new parking lot
By: Yujin '20