Monday, December 1, 2008

with a subtle look.

On a bench in the park, she sits. Horrible posture. Her back arched.
It's morning and the birds are singing. Her smile is fresh. A natural feeling.
Bread in hand, she's the most popular stand. The birds come, sit and coo.
As she feeds them, she names them. Each and every one she knew.
It's mid day now, and still she sits. Back stiff and heated.
Bread box lighter. The birds get restless. Not one stays seated.
She's humming now; she thinks it sweet. The birds are dancing, in the heat.
The heat goes down. Sunset so pretty. Cars are leaving her an empty street.
Her feed gone, the birds leave too. Desperate to stop them. She calls; She coos.
They can't understand nor do they care. She slumps down further. Alone again.
The air is empty. The sun color gone. She tears up to mourn the lost.
In the dark her humming stops. The moon has made her pale.
Don't forget me. Please don't forget me; Is all that's heard as she laid down, and exhaled.