Walk In The Park
John G. Young, M.D.
I turn the engine off
and sit listening to Rachmanninoff's
Rhapsody on a theme by Paganini.
When the commercial comes on,
I remove the key and open the door.
The park seems nearly empty
this Thursday morning,
only occasional joggers in sweat suits,
and dogs.
The pond is low;
dirt extends from the rim
like an unclean tub.
Although between barren trees,
I see snow on the mountains,
the air is warm.
Rock sounds come from a car
while a young man puts on paste wax,
A tennis player chews himself out
as he misshits the balls.
Aspirants in the practice court
try to avoid the wire mesh
above and below the narrow backboard.
Balls lie beneath.
But I continue on,
looking at the trees, their shapes,
wondering how to render them
on watercolor paper.
Halfway around the pond
I see the recent spring runoff
pour from a pipe
into the valleys between dirt bars.
Maybe the pond will fill.
No frisbees today.
The pot part of the park
is almost empty.
Nearby no bowls upon the green.
Police cars park at the side of the road
while two officers question
a bare-chested man holding a dog.
Further on between the trees
Female legs separate rhythmically in the air,
while dogs run in circles.
Two bicyclists pass by breathing heavily.
DUCK FEEDING AREA.
PLEASE RESTRAIN YOUR DOGS.
A little girl in a yellow dress throws crumbs.
Her mother watches near by.
Light colored hats cover fishermen
sitting thinking with their poles on red supports.
Five inch fishes hang together on a line--
the morning's catch.
As I walk across the grass back to the car,
an old Plymouth drives by
and a young girl's voice calls from the backseat,
"I like your body, mister," and laughs.
I see my car in the lot.
Walking closer
I notice the trees
darker towards the sky.
The branches towards me
are darker than those away.
Shadows curve around limbs.
A young woman next to my car
sees her dogs take off
after another woman’s dogs.
She calls to them.
The older one comes, the puppy stays.
She tells me she's concerned about the older one.
Sometimes he starts fights.
I turn on the ignition.
Violins play Vivaldi
and
I drive away.