Monday, April 6, 2015

April 6

Ten Year Forecast

We walked hand in hand along the bank
with all the other tourists.
Eleven years later, I sit here shivering,
staring through the fence at the water.
The wind's picking up. Buses roar
across the crossed bones of the drawbridge.
Buds are fresh and raw on the trees.
It's a minor river, leading nowhere, too shallow
for shipping, too filthy for swimming.
There are more tourists than ever these days,
zipping back and forth on rented bicycles.
Cranes bristle across the skyline.
Darker clouds are closing in from the east
but it won't rain.
A pair of Canada geese skim low across the water.
Boats bob across the bridge's shimmering reflection.
A group of street kids cluster on a bench as if
on the carcass of some downed animal.
My glasses become speckled, I was wrong
about the rain.

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