Monday, September 20, 2021

Wright Park

In Tacoma the old man
crossing Wright Park
will not use a path
and ignores the statue

of Schiller, a German
poet who never visited
Tacoma--his loss. I can't

find a verb to say what 
the old man does as he 
goes up the slope
to the conservatory. It is

his own peculiar old
white-haired way of walking,
wearing a blue windbreaker
on a hot afternoon. Perfect

verbs and muscular 
buttocks belong to the young.
A woman in orange shoes
floats past him. Her profile

is regal. Now someone full
of Jesus moves through the park
preaching to purple-eyed drunks.
Acorns drop like hail pellets.
Three-year-old roll down a
slope, bedazzled, giggling.

The old man smile at this,
arrives at the conservatory,
cough and spits. 

hans ostrom 2021

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