It was just another walk to the river.
Past the middle school,
One foot in front of the other.
Grown men playing at being swordsmen in South Park.
Bygone ways from bygone days.
People strolling along on Mass. Street.
Snatches of conversation,
nothing worth repeating.
A mother baby-talking to her baby,
baby riding high on daddy’s shoulders.
“Too much sun. Too much sun.”
The ghost of Don McLean singing American Pie
outside the store that sells beer brewing stuff
to people who want to brew beer.
I listened to the music for a while.
And when they had caught the last train for the coast,
I got up to get a drink from the water fountain nearby.
The water was warm -
but it was wet.
It was water.
The Dusty Bookshelf was crowded.
People lined up to buy books.
More books piled up than
anyone could sell in a month of Saturdays.
And then some.
I walked out.
And then finally as I crossed the Kaw River Bridge
I thought I might just as well turn back...
but inertia carried me on down to the water’s edge.
I found a drift-log resting in the shade of a sycamore tree.
A pleasant breeze.
City sounds receding into the background.
With an unfocused gaze,
I reflected on a river reflecting sky.
I noted what I had noted.
And time passed as it always does.
And now the past is past.
I have have written
what I have written
and I wonder:
Have I said too much?
Have I said too little?