HISTORIC CLAREMONT VILLAGE

I don't remember

lighting this cigarette

and I don't remember

if I'm here alone

or waiting for someone.

I don't remember when

I've ever seen so many

beautiful men and women

walking back and forth

in Historic Claremont Village.

I must have been working out

because I don't remember

how I got these muscles;

and this serene expression:

I must have done my time

reflecting on the bullshit.

Children are pulled quickly

past my bench

but the young are deeply

interested

in the fate

of this unusually bulky presence

in their secret cemeteries,

and they twist around

to look back at me.

The bench says,

“You're going to blow away.”

The wallet says,

“You're sixty-two.”

The seven-storey

Nissan Pathfinder says,

“Try to put your key

in that silver place behind

the steering wheel.

It's called the ignition.”

- March 2, 1997