Green Park, May 2010

~

the crocus have fled, daffodils gone,

bereft, only the gold dandelions still linger on,

a tame squirrel tugs at the slim trouser leg

of a beautiful girl strewn like a discarded peg,

across a tattersall rug on damp summer turf

her bleached Sunday newspaper billows like surf

bringing whispered languages so foreign to me

from passionate lovers beneath every tree

this afternoon stroll, a surreal postcard scene

of picnics and lovers and melting ice cream

under clear azure skies this scene is replete

with even the squawk of a lost parakeet,

that strangely, here, in this capital place

brings no hint of surprise on anyone’s face