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