Crow Friday Poem: Quiet of the Park by Mark Tulin

Previously posted in the now defunct Vita Brevis Press.

Quiet of the Park

I drift off in the quiet of the park where the rustling leaves keep me company.

I smell the meat on the burning wood of a fire pit.

I used to be hungry, but now I just curl up in sleep.

Sounds of car tires spin on asphalt, peddling boys on bicycles, churn their spindly legs,

traffic lights changing from green to yellow to red for all eternity, long after I’m gone.

There’s a coo from a pigeon and a squawk from an agitated crow.

In the distance, I see a turkey vulture tearing up a defenseless squirrel.

I feel the loss of all the people I know.

The cycle continues with or without them, I guess.

The mushrooming gray clouds in the dusk hover over me like a warm quilted blanket

and at this moment, I feel safe.

This patch of grass is where I sleep.

©️mft