By Vita Forest
In the early morning
There are joggers and cyclists
Dark silhouettes against the pearly sky
And the band of bootcampers
Swinging bells and balls
As they squat and straighten
On the soft green grass
I sit sipping tea
As they walk beneath the balcony
We’ve come to show you their hair,
the mother says to the white-haired neighbour watching the sea
And the girls turn obligingly to show
the twisted plaits
That start at their temples
And ring their skulls
Like crowns
The father in the singlet shepherds his kids across the carpark
She, riding a tiny white horse
Rolling on plastic wheels that grind on the asphalt
He, a blue grown-up scooter that
glides smooth with every press of his foot
while a car waits and lets them pass
engine idling
The black-clad teenager pulls in below
beneath the long flickering fingers of the pine
Sits a moment
Not yet time to start his shift
At the restaurant across the way
Just time enough to listen to one more song
As the engine ticks and cools
Jotterizing 