An elderly man wrestles with
a fanny pack filled with prescription bottles in a park.
His untucked shirt flap
rests on his thigh like a lapdog.
In a park. Leaves piling up,
small hills of orange and tan.
The bench slats are damp with morning.
There's a younger man sitting on the gnarled roots
of a tree that's been used as a chalkboard for decades.
People scribing directions to unearth old Converse shoeboxes
used as time capsules. Kids writings lists of who they've fucked,
what little league teams won big games,
who won games of Red Rover sixteen Junes ago.
Children ride bikes with rusted baskets.
People make small noise. Coughing,
clipping fingernails, striking matchbooks.
Wind bending stalks of thick grass
down by the lake.
The older man squints at the labels,
pressing them against his lens.
He pours a handful of a brown pill
and a round tan pill into his palm,
tilts his head back and moves his lips in prayer.
1 comment:
ultimately life-affirming
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