I pack up my bags.
Light a cigarette and pay my bill.
Down the stairs of this cruddy place,
pray the doorman goodwill.
I'm not coming back.
There's a lot still to see.
My converse hits the pavement with a resounding thud.
The wind lifts and blows away debris.
The park was empty save a squirrel.
I threw my cig into the ground.
I lay my body down under a tree,
I pray I won't be found.
The clouds play a roll on this relaxing day.
The shapes they form entertain me.
I am miles away from human contact.
A boat adrift at sea.
Author notes
I like walking.
Written March 7th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
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Wee, I enjoy going to the park and just wandering around aimlessly for hours; it's my 'back to nature' time, not to sound too Transcendental.
Your poem is simplistic, pleasant, and unpretentious, which is like a breath of fresh air. The rhyme seems a little forced, but that's hardly condemnable. I like the "boat adrift at sea" bit most, I think.
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