Glider

The smell of a million grass blades,
Kilometres of tarmac scraped on your skin
The look of a beat-up old sphere
But, it is more than that;
It is my only joy on a day of darkness
It flies like the cockatoo that lives near my house.

It may only be six months old, but it looks fifty
Stained with grass from when I kick it in the rain
Ripped by dogs who want a bit of the joy it gives
Stitching in a pattern of hexagons and pentagons
It wears it’s name;
GLIDER