There’s a park
Right around the corner of
Mulberry Street
There’s nothing special
About it,
Just a park
With o’ergrown thistles
And rusted lamps
Along the
Broken path-
Which had often been
A river
Between mountain benches,
Or a valley
Under lava attack
Traced with chalk powder,
We skipped on stones
To escape.
A broken path
With broken things,
That led from nowhere
To nowhere.
I was happy to go nowhere then.
I still might be.
There’s a swing set too
And a see-saw
And a slide
Beside a monkey bar,
From where we ruled
A happy kingdom
Each evening
Singing bibidy bop,
As we scribbled
Our names on the swing
Scrapes of red paint
Sticking inside fingernails.
And I wonder
Who sits on
The throne
We abandoned
Long ago.
There’s gravity
That I can see
In here,
And yet I levitate
To a time
When three #friends
Two ditsy girls
And one shy boy,
Sat atop metal bars
And beyblades.
Even without phones,
They would always know
Where to find
Each other
At half past five.

It’s half past five now
By a broken swing set
With tunes
Of bibbidy bop
In an abandoned park
In Mulberry Street,
And as I stand up
To leave,
Three children
Two chirping boys
And one little girl
Trailing behind,
Enter through
the creaky gateway
Of their kingdom,
And in reflex,
I look towards
Our scribbled names
Only to see
That they remain
In spite of time,
Saved perhaps
By three little children.
I smile
And take the broken path
Once again,
Turning around
And sneaking glances
At the three little children,
That now sit on
The metal bars,
Until I turn the corner
Of Mulberry Street.

#friend #yqbaba

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