park

Dead grass and concrete.
It is 42 degrees and I am walking through a park, silent
The children are absent and
The swing sets do not move,
Just the sound of distant cars on black motorways
And a memory of you:
An old cardigan, tattered blue jeans and I was playfully chasing you on a chilly night in October
The way she touched me parted skies and
Made missing children cry.
Where have they gone?
And where are you, Vandalia?
She is miles away
Sorting knickknacks and colored fabrics.
I could fabricate a lie
Tell myself I am not alone
But it is 42 degrees and this park is empty and
The swing sets do not swing.

Dead grass and concrete
Under my aching feet
The bones do not fit and
My flesh is aging.
"Abandon the flames raging inside your head and embrace the love of Christ!"
Is what the man on the television shouted.
His suit was well pressed
And his Rolex glistened
Like the plastic and confessed.
My confessions are concepts
Tasteless confections lacking nutrients and significance.

Dead grass and concrete
And above my body
Clouds like castles tumble and collapse
Shift and slide like the chemicals inside.
Cold rooms, a shattered mirror and bottled medications await my arrival at my place of residence.
If I could cast a spell and
Sprout wings from this weathered spine
I would drift above the tree tops
Cradle broken angels and seal their crystal wounds with off-key lullabies,
But it is 42 degrees and my head is full of
Fairy tales, daydreams, and tranquilized soliloquies.
The last time I saw my mother she said,
"You look so sedated."
"But I feel better, so much better,"
Was my placid reply.
I am beginning to believe those words were just another lie.

Dead grass and concrete and it is 42 degrees.
The children are gone
Inside homes basking in the warm glow of television shows.

mc