Spandex and Cotton

Past the junkyard,
I bicycle,
Empty shells and cars in disarray.
In the open space,
Two men trade money,
For contraband.

Beyond the dump,
Black Ravens,
Swirling in and out of the refuse.
Near the dark water,
Penguins of trash bags,
Flutter and fly.

A verdant pathway,
I dismount,
From the table, you rise to greet me.
Around the courtyard,
Lavender, Iris, Summer Phlox,
Perfume the air.

At the table,
We converse.
Form tight spandex and flowing cotton.
Amidst the flowers,
Talk of the Father,
Traversing lives.

Path gives way,
To blacktop,
Tangle of jungle gyms and homeless.
Next to the park bench,
Rucksacks and cardboard,
Obscure the grass.

Back towards home,
I race,
An old man totters in jogging shorts.
Back onto cement,
Salty silt and sweat,
I wipe my eyes.