Friday, May 1, 2020


The grass in the park
across the way
is overgrown again
and needs mowing.

I can see battalions
of dandelions
creeping steadily
inward from its mangy edges.

Silence—neither the silence
of peace, or of complete despair—
now occupies the square
patch of ground in the center

where squealing children
once would clamber
over ropes and bars
and rusty swings,

eager to launch their
small world wars.
Now I wonder what sorts
of unsuitable spaces

are filled today
by the voices
of those brave and
impatient soldiers—

what impassioned
political speeches
must be pouring from
their indoor throats

like the mash of torn-away
treebuds and rainwater
that's gushing from the mouths
of its vacant army-green slides.