Here's my contribution.
This is what boys are for! To strip
to the hip-sagging baggy pants;
shrug, slouch, then somersault to the brim
of the fountain; cat-crawl the wall,
cartwheel, lazy-vault a stone plinth,
bend knees and flat foot it free-style,
frog-fashion, down all seven levels
of stone sliced by blades of water.
This is what boys do: brace
on the handrail of city steps, spring
so that two feet lunge up to stand
on the next rail. Let go, drop back, land
squarely in size 12 trainers on the pavement.
Stroll back to the crowd, unflinching,
unsmiling, like no one’s watching. Cool
as this cutting edge curve of water on steel.
This is what public sculpture’s for: to mirror
these moves. This is what public spaces are for.
This is what this Saturday afternoon’s for:
sliding down stone bannisters on one hip,
September not quite here. This
is what boys are: poems freed in air
above the sandwich wrappers in Sheaf Square
breakfalling among pigeons.