Stop a bit for a rest here. There’s room for just you
And perhaps a few others whose asses fit well
In a seat that is child-wide with arm rests that slant
So that those who would think of reclining can’t.
Will our public park presence continue to smell?
Does the rest of the park think that we are a zoo?
On the other hand, who cares how others may feel?
We do things our own way. Our forefathers said so.
If confederate monuments obstruct the view
Of our moving past hatred, could this be a clue
They should stay there until all who love them will go
To the next life where no one here will hear them squeal?
As we take our last breath in this walk-around dream
We will care least for trinkets of causes and wars.
We will see that our broke bodies and our weak minds
Are of volatile matter wherein no one finds
Any spiritual solace. My witness is yours.
This fine park we partake of is temporal in theme.