Clear My Head

I've come to the park, the quiet garden inside the park to get away and clear my head but I end up texting and tweeting and trying to block out the sounds of making out from another bench. This is not what I wanted. The first vibration is a catalyst and suddenly I am talking to my sister, a girl, my mother, I am reading the jokes of an unknown comedian's unknown comedian friend.

People walking through with pizza and ice cream and goddamn children. They are trying to enjoy their summer, the fickle mistress it has been, before the great grand whore of winter comes to fuck us sideways. There is never enough time, and there is so much of it already. Feel the grass between your pale white toes while there's still hope!

Through tall grasses I see couples, over there are children playing. I sit between the birdbath and impatiens. I look them up. Common names include snapweed, jewelweed, and touch-me-not. They are lovely and easy to grow, and I can attest to the former. I've never had a plant or flower or anything I've had to keep alive besides myself.

I've come to the park to get away. I think what "get away" might actually entail. I am distracted by a buzzing disc in my pocket. I wonder if I am a family man. I have clothes I've forgotten in the wash. I look at the clouds and all I see is the approaching storm. And this is the quiet part of the park.