CuppaGemma

Green goes the light and horns
follow in their cacophony
of up and down pauses before wheels
roll as a mother’s bench lullabye
licks against the leaves that
wave the day to dark, and grass
is warmer than if the cat napped on it
as the metal swings squeal
with the pound of children

And the path has dogs, spandex joggers,
red nails in careful little sandals,
sweating soccer men and several large
pizzas carried from the corner store, before
the shade coats the day and the stones
that jut like acne will still stay warm,
benches are long green strips of wood and
the busker plays for you to buy his CD,
not handfuls of smiles and change…

Then the little hill goes up and around
as you can nearly touch the traffic signal
by the part where the road cuts like a box knife
through the quiet, but there are enough rolling
stone walls that I forget there is such a thing
as time and other places to be, until a couple
sound asleep on their green square remind my heart
the park is a large empty place where I should
stand straight and walk quickly to stop the
sad sort of pollen from reddening my eyes-

With another day when the weather was warm
we looped crunching circles around willow trees…