The Park

A New Poem

This new poem was inspired by the park in Wexford, opposite where I live. As I settled into my new home, I often sit at the breakfast table overlooking the park and watch as the people who use it change as they day goes on.

THE PARK 

Across the road, the park stands 

mossy-gated, and always open. 

All day, the parade of people will come 

and make use of this tree-lined paradise. 

First comes the joggers, and 

exercise-nuts, who run or walk quickly. 

Limbering up, and stretching before mounting 

the various machines that later  

in the day will be used by kids to play on. 

While bored parents will 

walk up and down, staring at phones 

or gossiping, sitting on benches nearby. 

Replying empty phrases to 

shouting offspring, who want them 

to watch how they swing or slide. 

Then, in the hazy evenings, the park 

takes on new life as teens and straggling  

junkies stagger around in bored somewhat 

loud indifference, and the calls change 

from youthful exuberance to the 

catty name-calling and jokey shouting of teens. 

Until the sun fades, and now darkened, the park 

follows suit with the people who live around it. 

Falling to sleep, stirring only with the momentary 

urinator, who stumbles blindly in the dark. 

© Vincent S. Coster 2024