Sep 9, 2013

At The Park


At the park a young lady walks her dog.
A young couple carves their names into the tree.
I smell the green grass, feel the drips from my
water bottle. And then, an elderly man sits next to me
on the bench. He's eating peanuts and reading the paper.
I see the little children run, throwing a freebie with a stranger.
He's a stranger to the park. I can spot his light colored pupils
and brown hair in the dark. He gathers around the children
playing fun games. But I saw him watch and wait in mystery.
His demeanor seems kind to a gentle spirit.
The spirit that doesn't understand the dark in its reclusive state.
There were two young teenage boys swimming at the lake, a
middle age woman feeding her baby under her blouse.
Near the picnic area, a family of five were grilling out together.
I was distracted by the music. As I sat listening to the beat
and trying to concentrate on what I was reading. I attempted to
to block out this  recognizable feeling inside. I once was child,
innocent at heart and unafraid of the dark. My mother would shake
her finger and tell me to never to talk to strangers. I recall he had
pale skin and fiery red hair. He drove a beat up car and pursued
me for a short while. He chatted with me until I ran back to my house.
There was nothing else to the story. I only wished someone
would pay attention to the children like I did. For each one was too
priceless to be stolen. The day was too bright for a sudden rip
in the storm clouds. Walking off, I prayed that everyone would
make it home safe and sound. After all, my instincts could have
been wrong about this man being a stranger to the park.  

jhp ©2012-2013


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