Through the Park

 

I am going to the supermarket.

 

I think in tandem of Bromley

bicycles and how

I sweated too hard for a

Wednesday and how the

sky hung the clouds down for a breast

biopsy (through the stirrups,

rain) and how the dog ran across the way back-

ward and

 

how my thigh is cramped making

my jeans impasto and I

sigh (there is no breath-ghost it is not winter

though hoarfrost still sits the mornings out

with me) loudly,

 

and the gate lisps shut behind though I am through and out and here

on the road