Park Bench

A young man at mid morning

Collapsed on you, dropped his books

One leg bent

The other leg slacked

Towards the ground

 

He slept balancing his knee

Like a Wallenda

Adjusted his head under his arm

Shielded his eyes from daylight

 

When he woke, he scratched his head,

Marched on,

I stifled a laugh

For my youth now gone

 

Then daylight's lovely lantern

Dressed in yellow white

cleanness

 

Danced a ballet towards

Her majesty's park bench

She did!  She sat on you!

 

Transformed you

Into something

Antique and elegant

Victorian or Upper West side

A Manhattan penthouse parlor

Adornment

She with her book in hand

 

A small one

 

La femme petite

Posed for Monet

On a patch of scenery

I lifted my hand

Positioned my wrist

As if holding a brush

 

Painted a still of spontaneity

The girl

And her other

you

 

She left

Beckoned away

By a cell phone

 

And,

Like little mice

They came

Early risers

Get up and go'ers

The 6am to 2pm

Tribe

 

Scampered on so busy

‘Must get going'

‘I'll catch up with you later'

‘Can't right now'

‘Who has the time?'

‘Let me think about it

and I'll get back to you'

 

Not one of them stopped to sit

On you or remark

Not one of them dreamed to

Subtly or accidentally

Create beauty