a massive rock juts up in the park
like the claw of a slumbering leviathan
sightless, I sit under it now
an impotent king
whose footsteps leave no echo
a marble fountain claims the park’s center
fronted by a headless statue:
a soldier, or a philanthropist, or a priest,
or perhaps a pauper?
but weeds have staged a revolution
and wind has frayed his frock
a dead oak tree fragments the sun
there’s a carving dug into its bark
but ant holes have consumed their memory
the branches creak like old bones
they bow for us
as we sit in the cool of their shade
we now just pose
headless statues
sitting under the massive rock
that juts up in the park
© 2020 George Hloros
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