Sunday/Monday
I.
An interesting sight may be
a small group of kids,
some with unkempt hair, some
with barely any at all
exiting a vehicle,
entering a pavilion
and exiting again, a half hour later
along with an odor of marijuana
They walk off, under the sky
mixed with some clouds and stars,
but mostly just amber glowing gas.
Chatting and cheering just loudly enough
to all miss the owl call out
from the distance
save one, who was lucky to be
just slightly more observant than the rest.
He stops and stares off,
stoned and strains to see or hear
a solitary subject of nature
in a place,
in a world
where cities extend across the earth
with their concrete, rebar fingers
into the open eyes of the sincere.
II.
Suddenly the sun leaps into the sky,
and quickly falls on the other side,
but the streetlights mitigate
the confusion that occurs in the absence
of those golden rays,
those basic units of contentment.
And a small group of kids
can once again be seen, walking off.
Once the Woodsmen of the World
met here and held discourse .
Now the small group of kids
become a large group,
with everybody,
with nodding heads
or smiles, or staring into outer space
imbibing loud music like drunks.
One kid in the crowd with his fingers feels
the tapping foot
of the guitarist, and the rumble of the amp,
softly bites the neck of
his lover, how lovely, he thought—
though her pupils were large enough to hid the irises
and the singer speaks of drinking and love
and the audience continues nodding
save one, who was lucky to be
just slightly more observant.
Review