Sunday Minutes in Bryant Park
During daytime only, never in the dark
While I wait for my friend in New York City
I sit and try to write something pretty
Sometimes New York City on Sundays
Is so much better than on Mondays
Where you’ll see ladies with umbrellas open  
Even though there’s no raindrops comin  
Puny pigeons peek and peck the ground
People nosey and neck around
The day may be sunny
Or plain old cloudy
Always the same old park to me
I’d visit here every day, gladly
Bryant Park got new grass, so green 
Lofty shrubs all around can be seen
The famous round fountain  
Still solid as a mountain
Water sprinkles down its dish
No one throws coins to make a wish
The park man tells all, move we must
So he blows the area and what a windy gust
I still end up inhaling the dusty, dust
Sometimes there's empty scattered chairs everywhere
As I sit in the sun, so boring, but I don’t care 
So I stretch, relax and think 
With mind, paper and ink
Nothing else to do
But write, pop tooth-whitening gum, and chew, chew, chew
I notice the Carousel on the other side
Several children enjoying the ride
There’s so many people near the Carousel
That the peddler moves closer hoping to sell
Round and round the Carousel goes
The air so pleasing as a rose
Then I begin to smell some stinky smoke
An old man to my left
He’s quite adept
At puffing his cigarette
Another to my right puffs his cigar
Although not that close, they could never be too far
Surprised there’s no one here with a pipe
It would indeed add to the hype
On top of all this just my luck
A loud popping noise comes from a truck
I haven’t seen any pony-tailed men for a change
I notice two women with shaved heads, so strange
Or could it be two men
Or a rooster and his hen
Perhaps plain old jerks
With silly grins and smirks
They too watch the Carousel going in circles
Now their grins become smiles
And I do believe in miracles
So glad for the arrival of my old friend
We’re off for a walk so I write “the end”

By Gloria Buono © 2004