skunk-smoke in the park
floats lazy betwixt flowers,
stretches out moments into hours,
past little dogs that crap in the verge while
their humans pretend not to see it emerge,
past girls who glide in their summer clothes,
while old guys watch them with wistful leers,
and the joggers go round and round and round
high on the beat of endorphins and earbuds,
skunk-smoke in the park
is the dance of fragrance
that drifts betwixt the swings
where children swing, and climbs
the climbing wall to touch the sun,
where winos doze on dedicated benches
embraced by the loving memory of the dead,
and the pigeons that stab and preen
at last night’s pizza dream
themselves into peacocks,
and skunk-smoke in the park
floats betwixt flowers,
slows time, digests and devours
drifts lazy on the breeze
with the butterflies and bees
gifts caterpillars the dream of wings
intoxicates the squirrels in the trees,
as the stoned slackers and
pot-heads pixies exhale
the park shifts…
slightly out of focus
Andrew Darlington
Enjoyed, Andrew. Good to read your work.
Comment by Tom on 22 October, 2022 at 1:42 pm