Sonnet Who Cares

The deciduous trees, mostly birch,
Throw a pattern like a fishing net,
Neon green, over the hill’s dark pines.

So there’s that. Assuming it’s like that,
The campers and trucks don’t hesitate
To rumble across the iron bridge,

And the leashed pig on the river’s shore
Is friendly and lets the boys pet it,
While their mother inflates the kayak

And their sisters run over the beach
Barefoot and one-upping with cartwheels.
Up at the skatepark in said dark pines

It’s raining, which can rust your board’s wheels,
But one kid skates through puddles. Who cares.