At the end of that day
as my inner chaos escaped me
only to melt into the distance
where green trees were now turning black,
I thought of what I would say to him
that wouldn’t sound too demanding.

In those moments,
as I waited for the car to come around,
I looked at the bed of grass,
neatly tended and I smiled
at the invisible sign which said,
Keep Off The Grass.
It just made no sense to me;
it still doesn’t.

Water sprayed itself in front of me,
and like my time,
it waited to be gulped.
Free from bondage of the working class,
I wanted to fill it
with poetry,
with painting,
and a pricelessness,
that couldn’t be sold,
and therefore,
couldn’t be bought.

So, when the din of the day had left me,
replacing my thoughts with windy silence
and as it dissolved into the dark blue
of that starless night,
I told him that I wanted, for us to gaze at the sky.