Park on Tuesday
Language spills like scales
that lie forgotten
on the bench you bought
for the room you aren’t sure exists.
There is green though.
There is always green.
There is always a man eating a sandwich out of tin foil
on his lunch break.
This is an unbreakable truth, like breath
It is an event to eavesdrop,
a treat and a chore all the same
to pick up other people’s lives
and haul them around on your shoulder.
It’s unfair to carry words as social weapons
but conversation has always been a battle.
Told the girl at the bar she had a unicorn of a name
and she looked euphoric and curled,
her red shoes rocking back and forth
on the wooden floor.