7516. WAITING

WAITING

Here I am, basking in Ruminary Square, 

a pat of muffin and a coffee in hand. 

Sitting squarely in the path of nuisance, 

I'm watching that girl come towards me. 

And, My God, don't I wish, who am I

kidding. What use is an old newspaper 

in today's digital world? 

-

Maybe I'll just sit back instead, think about

butterflies on a warm Autumn day. Where 

have they all gone, and how do they do it?

There's nothing really left here - if you look

for signs of life. I mean, trees are bare, the

leaves blown around, the bushes are empty,

and straddle the ground. Squirrels, flush

to bursting, are collecting their nuts. 

Another Winter's upcoming filch.

-

The sense of these benches is a sense of

foreboding  -  a dark-colored waiting, some

bad expectation. I should sit here for the

twelve inches of snow to visit? I should 

wait for cold rain and the freeze? Since

I've nowhere to go, it's really now, really,

all disbelief. The suspension of habit,

a presence of grief.