Clinging Leaf
by Odin Roark

With so many,
the future is…

To walk through Central Park,
observe the many different expressions,
many… more than many, carrying that undeniable
face of want and desperation.

All winter long, bundled in furs,
layered sweaters, some wrapped in a blanket.
they peer up at the barren trees,
always noticing the tree with one leaf clinging to life,
one that the stormy weather could not break loose.

Staring at this personal leaf hanging in limbo,
many think, that’s me. Yes…that’s me.

Such a person may soon be wheel-chaired by a hospice caretaker
to the favorite spot for watching a clinging leaf,
while taking a bench resting place,
page turns through the Enquirer’s latest edition.

Wheelchair-bound, but neither deaf or blind to the same ol’
children playing on the monkey bars,
while mothers remain ensconced in heavy gossip,
having read from the grocery checkout stand
all the rags.

Even as real life is going on…

Just beyond the park.
curiously taking it all in,
watching the coffin be unloaded,
pigeons randomly land,
and take off from atop the freshly arrived hearse.
at the church for one whose leaf has finally fallen.