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.