A Poem, The Park

The Park
Melancholy,
The brunette auburn eyed girl leans,
On a blue-black rock
On a semi-still navy pond,
And texts on a metallic cerulean cell phone,
Because he said he would come,
And he has not come.

Four female grey-brown ducks coolly glide by.
A community theatre group sets up orange gates for its production

She waits.

Three grey men on a bench exchange stories.
Their weeks were similar and hard.
A repose.
The eldest of the three
Gestures to the opposing shore
And notes a housing development’s blight on the landscape:
- “Such a mess of tan, burnt sienna, gamboge, ochre, and taupe,
Give me liver and mustard.” –

Rain starts to sprinkle.
Oil-slick-rainbow pigeons frantically tussle for buff and turquoise crumbs.

The middle aged of the three
Smokes a rolled saffron cigarette,
While the youngest inserts
Comments shifting left to right.

An albino squirrel scurries among her xanadu pelted cousins
(why do I assume an albino squirrel is female?)

She waits
A thousand venetian red flags
Fly in her mind,
But she waits.
A bad taste
Rests impatiently in her mouth,
But she waits.

A team of hungry bugs feed on small bronzed shirtless boys playing ball.
A bongo/guitar duo plays covers
(the same beat over and over, the same strumming over and over).

She waits.

A crusty charcoal clad punk rides a hot dark cardinal bike
Passed a patch of cerise flowers,
And whistles.
-Pawn shop merchandise in a week.-
The oldest of the three grey men is up,
Animatedly gesturing and explaining,
The other two sit on the bench,
The middle one smokes,
The youngest listens.

A would be cirque star bounces on a green-yellow wire between two trees.
Dirty brown and brass dogs eye everything, and wait for a lazy squirrel or duck.

Crusty punk scans groups for weakness.
He looks at a foursome on a carmine-pink blanket,
And continues.
His amber eyes watch for solos.
He whistles.

Young, fallow cap wearing would be poet,
Gets dizzy jawing a cinnamon cigar.

She texts again,
And waits.
On a blue-black rock she waits.

He rides and whistles.

The old grey man gesticulates.

Grass cutting international-orange masked men walk with purpose,
Maize dust and spring-bud grass swirl under weed whackers.
Unnerving noise whisked by.

He whistles.
Foolishness masked in persistence,
Perhaps.
Ignorance masked in patience,
Perhaps.

She looks from her metallic cerulean phone
To the chartreuse and harlequin foliage
Framing khaki clouds sprinkling rain.
She waits.

Newlyweds decide to not be careful.
A couple scolds a chocolate lab puppy for chewing her copper coloured sandal.

He decides to come back
When things are darker.

She will wait.

Three grey men get up from a bench to find shelter from the rain.