Fun Is for the Quietest

Fun
is for the smile,
a meteoric‑like rise
of happiness
straight up,

a bright lift
that keeps its place
in corners of the mouth
upward

and also goes
to shine
from the eyes.

Fun is for the quietest,
the first speaking up,
a resonant “I matter”
sounding through.

Fun is for me,
a job for pocket money
for a neighbour well done,
the simplest song I sing
someone notices
and calls well sung.

Fun is for Mum,
straw hats collected
in a mountainous pile,
a neon‑bright floaty dress,
a daughter’s graduation gown.

Fun is for my nan,
a garden,
a bench she calls a form,
a cottage spotted on a tour.

Fun is for the traveller,
an arrival to where the beach
destination is still far and ahead
but just in view,
three unique colour blues,
like land, sea, sky
as wide stripes in the scene.