"Fall in the Garden of the Homeless"
Rain drips from rose glade gazebos,
sticks to murals of Che in Chile,
streams through the monkey house,
children scream at their nannies.
The old man who holds the strings
that hold the universe together
begs for one coin to buy back his name.
Leaves blow through the park,
a day-old newspaper captures
a lottery ticket, the winner lost.
In the rare bookstore, widows adorned
in shapeless purple celebrate the day
M. S---- - H---- proposed to the girl
with gold hair and clay-blue eyes.
I can barely see the garden,
my windows fractured with frost,
cold seeping beneath the carpet,
round the dining room table,
into my favorite chair, nothing left
but worry he’ll find shelter mostly dry,
warm enough to last most of the night
lest the wet strings slip away,
lest the celebration pours into the street.
© 2005 Gary Blankenship
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