Soldiers In The Park

Unpublished pieces


Windows open. A blue sun flickers the trees
lined up like soldiers in the park.
Beyond the gates the concrete environment
is bursting in naked madness.
I wander, wondering which of the
two points of view I would care to be.
Oddly, the birds that fly overhead do not
seem concerned. Their wings are spread
and they are off on their own adventures.
Carefully I try and count their wings but I
find I have lost track of their perspective.
A quiet man enters behind me, drunk in
early morning beer. He asks me for a cigarette,
and I hand him one with shaking desire to
light one of my own. He says not a word for
quite some time, slowly puffing the cigarette.
His clothes are odd, his face lined with library
card code. "I am not the alpha and the omega",
he shares with me. "I am just a man like you
who has wandered into the park to escape the
dungeon of the streets I walk upon. I am lonely
but not alone", he confirms. His opinion
clearly matches my own. I could not
reply to him, could not state a fact or an opinion.
Windows close. A grey moon shelters the trees
as we smoke our awareness.
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mlevesque's picture

really excellent poem, well

really excellent poem, well done.

Vive le Quebec libre!