Dusk at the portside playground

[Achebe]

There's a wedding across from the cemetery. A girl about six runs to the playground in white shoes, her black hair pulled back, loosening in front. She looks at my son, who hams up the peril as he rockets side to side, twisting the chains up to the top. First squeal then shriek. Her mom stands by the latticed gate – it'll be time to go when her cigarette's done. A bridesmaid in bare-shouldered navy and a rum-blonde bun poses with her smoke's ghostly cirrus beside her. Or so my son says. I for one, can see none of them.
Trying to find some excitement in my boring life was proving a difficult task.