cracker crumbs and ice-cream sticks

for macdonalds

i have come here to watch something other than my life
that looked so pathetic in matted mirror

i have history here with no one but the birds

it's good to know i can be disconnected and still be ok

theres a thirteen year old
with her composition book and birkenstocks.
her hair is parted like mine and she finds her seclusion
on a bench
facing the swings.

the see-sawing helps her thoughts.

her hair falls close to the pages
she hunches over and fills with despairings
and musings and secrets.
she fiddles with her shoes as she draws
pausing to reflect and to gather momentum

the possum creek bench etches into my skin
making red circle tatoos (dont know which to qualify) on my ankles

she is my spanish translation

seven year olds play footy
with thirsty coaches howling at the lines.

i want to fall asleep here on this bench
with my shoes waiting on the ground
and have someone tap me lightly
when it's time to go home.

monkeys are it
chasing the girls from the slides.
one waits for a late pickup.
he eyes are full of defeat.

so many languages.