I’m not a jogger.
I’m a sitter.
Color me stationary.
On a bench,
watching a low cloud
entangle itself in skyscrapers.
The park is shadowed
by a wall of buildings,
where steel and concrete
keep business people in place,
and time amuses itself
by counting windows.
Trees flourish
but birdlife has dropped its standards,
allows in pigeons.
I feed them anyhow.
Crumbs of bread
in keeping with their ordinariness.
About:
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Trampoline and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Levitate, White Wall Review and Willow Review.
Illustration by Scalar Comet. Based on Original Photography by Andrej Lišakov via Unsplash
