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strolling through the leaves
ruffling and shuffling
wondering where half of my mind went
in the park where the trees hang over my head

'past the lake
where the ducks are covered in filth
a blemish on the fabric of silk

now I'm nestled under a thorned tree
wired fence infront of me; blocking
my sea of vision

fixated on six nettle leaves
they breathe more life than me
crouched down
the insect bite on my leg is playing
with my head
loose jeans rubbing against it

where have I arrived?
this hiding place is quite a dive,
from every direction I turn my head
I sharply see a plastic bag
or a faded leaflet
or a torn cigarette box
and this is only within a two metre range

a few hours later and I'm circling
the lake again,
make no mistake; the putrid lake

craneflies buzzing past the mixture
of concrete, broken glass and feather-covered grass

ducks perched on a metal contraption
amongst all of the floating waste,
and I'm sitting on a rusty, scratched dull green bench

motorway slices through the overgrowth nearby; to my right
the polluted air fuses with the unpleasant stench
the slight wind is causing my hands to clench
reflecting without a hint of delight

the sound of scurrying squirrels
crisp, through the canal-side

the heron swoops down and
glides along the narrow stretch of water

if only I could click my fingers

if only....