These are days without mechanical thought.
These are roads that are dusty
With or without wind.
A temporary reprieve from the exhausting thoughts of
Their infinite shades.
Or pondering where the stray hubcaps from speeding cars
End up once they roll away on their own.
During an afternoon excursion.
(Quite possibly having founded a world of chrome and broken spokes, either above or below the current macrocosm, complete with a Parliament and overdue library books. )
Tangled vines and aggressive palmettos
Choke out growing trees that have miraculously grown up through discarded tires,
The waxy bays that smell of vanilla,
Out of place among
So many living oaks.
That will eventually smell of sawdust.
Floating soda cans are not litter,
But ships at sea,
Setting sight on the fountain in the middle.
The pinnacle of this reservoir.
Accompanied by a lone gourd,
That has been carelessly thrown overboard.
All these vessels,
Dodge the treacherous turtle shells that
Have laid so many other metaphors to rest.
Off beyond some of the other brush,
Is a strategically placed rope swing.
Held by a knot that is
Tighter than any knot before or after it,
Tighter than anything that will ever be.
Capable of carrying
Carpenter ants alike,
Over a dried up canal,
Past the tops of trees,
To splash into the milky stars.
It would pay dividends to acknowledge
One sitting on one side of the lake,
On a bench with plenty of gum underneath,
Whose line of sight is obscured by the roaring fountain,
Soda cans that have now started to sink.
And on the other side ,
(Separated by equal parts water and space and exasperation)
The other sits,
On a picnic bench,
Neither of them move,
It is better that way.
This story within a story could only be told better,
By an artists rendering.
Pounding and scraping can be heard off in the distance,
Excavation is underway nearby,
Machines that look
Sound like dinosaurs
Dig through the bedrock and
To unearth ancient pipelines,
Dilapidated conduits that took eons to crystallize.
Replace them with more modern couplings in mere seconds,
Resistant to both rust and to fairy-tales.
To better provide fuel at the expense of fossils that
Continue to mount,
In record numbers.
All this noise
Off so far in the distance,
Reverberates at the park,
All this noise,
Off so far in the distance,
Still relevant at the park.
Compelling bread crumbs originally left for the
Left to tremble on top of the soft grass where it was forgotten in the first place ,
Like hesitant popcorn.
The opportunistic cranes,
See this and consider this as a meal.
Dinner in the same day,
(Especially if it is just stale bread)
Would be an outrageous bargain,
That is to say nothing of an open box of donuts,
Left to be further baked by this days sun
Many others after it.
Left momentarily as a decoration in a park,
That is severely lacking in anything besides recreation,
There are an adequate number of bathrooms in paradise.