Clouds are endless above the merry-go-round
washed with nature’s spirit.
Paths in the park now overgrown with weeds,
stones tossed by restless children away
from the pond now empty of ducks.
We gaze toward the sky in search of a bright
light to electrify the music – make horses
move, enrich a pond – make a child smile
or laugh.
A store front empty, benches drenched
with rain – inside we have slices of space
as the crowd as thick as dew after a storm
gathers – a crowd to analyse – most seek
a new – slice – of a former life.
Rich and famous congregate in the heat
of summer and slowly leave as August
begins to empty trees.
Bands no longer play along Caroline
Street; inside, outside, on roof tops,
corners, alleys and side streets are
quiet in the afternoon.
Out door eateries and crowded bars,
red sofas in the center of a city yard
where iron gates keep the young away.
One black iron gate shuts an elevator
door to take you to the top floor –
inside my mind everyone jumps, a
railing lower than knees.
Giant structures grow each year and
larger shadows darken Broadway,
sending tunnels of wind, turning heads,
dresses worn now like Marilyn Monroe.
Like ducks without sunshine and a
path without laughter – as children are
gone from the backs of horses – where
“Spit and Spat,” statues in a distance
glance with marble stars on their faces.
Nature brought summer clouds, showers,
storms, yet we have made the wind –
tunnels and shadows leave as a sun.
As summer leaves with natures gifts –
natural winds of fall take away a shade
tree – but no one rests there on
Broadway – it is gone the season for
Broadway in a small town.