A WALK IN THE PARK
Slow placing on a winding path
One thought in front of another
A jogger huffs impatient
Warm breath at my neck
I stop holding hands
With contemplation
To let her pass
Then they’re all
At my back, in my face
Priority to the app-blaring
Chattering voices
Importantly knocking my lined up
Skittles of quiet for six
My cauldron of petulance
Simmers
Endless lists of
Things underachieved
So much that amounts to so little
The visceral terror
Of being too dull
To finish a thought that is
Fully alive in this privileged town
Where bombs do not fall
Water is plentiful
And gratitude scarce
A slumberer lies
On a bed of old bags
A Pomeranian’s tail
Bobs ridiculous ahead
A man waves cheerful
Two hands in plaster
I wonder how he fell or fought
And whether the sad scent
Of homelessness
Could be bottled and sprayed
On real estate moguls
And global elites
To goad them to help
Children babble and circle
As their minders talk
Loud into phones
And the life of the park
At the end of the day
Makes me smile
Mud at the wall 