A prose poem by Anon ymous
Every day I stop at the park. Same time, except on Thursdays [I’m a little late]. I lean against the car and wait. Sometimes I’ll walk the path. Once I sat under a maple; watched a robin collect twigs for a nest. One day there’ll be nothing left to breathe (I’ll thank Monsanto then for what it did to the air) ; a few moments here, a question or two there, can the spray of chemicals kill all of us. I notice the same people: an older woman sits on the bench facing west [always leaves at 4:30], a young boy and girl [the beginnings of a crush]. Sometimes, I wonder if they recognize me; know what I’m waiting for, see the same Monsanto future I know is about to happen.