Front Row Central

December 2, 2007 § Leave a comment


Unattainable beauty in hand pressed prints
Beating my mind, on a central park’s bench
I’ve counted fifty so far and then footprints
The breadth of my imagination in French
For months, I made my spare sitting room
The best seat in the city, exposing everyone
When should I disappear? Putting on perfume
When the wind shifts, my hair comes undone
Anything can happen, anytime, now it has
Then, the steps of an ordinary, sensitive man
Plays in his head, constant, communal jazz
He told me that he was his greatest fan
I prayed that he wouldn’t stop and sit
He keeps on singing even after I split


© Sonya Rose

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