Sunday, April 30, 2017

Tourist

Sitting by this nondescript patch of river
on an indescribably filthy bench
watching people walking their dogs or kids or both
riding bikes, skateboarding,
holding hands, being pushed in wheelchairs
It’s remarkably quiet
traffic from the freeway is a distant roar
nothing but water and clouds
and all of us, right at this moment,
in this place, all getting along remarkably well
I don’t get many moments like this
Sure there are cranes building new monstrosities
on all sides, and my hair feels greasy and my collar
is dusted with dandruff
But the breeze feels wonderful, and my belly
is full of bulgogi, and my coffee tastes so good
And a man goes through the garbage can
then carefully puts the lid back
and two young men are sitting on the next bench
with their arms draped around one another,
and it feels so peaceful here, feels so far
from the bickering and bellowing,
from the snarling mongrels intent on destroying
this world, though not until they’ve taken
the things they want from it. It feels so far
from everything, feels like a sanctuary.
I close my eyes and feel the breeze
and when I open them again, a girl in a burqa
bicycles past, riding alone,
a huge grin on her face, her garments

fluttering behind her

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