shred

dreary day steeped in melancholy hues
cold breeze fluttering the edge of pages
amidst the flap of wings and dull splat of pigeon shit.
me...too many birds...a notebook of scribbled thoughts
on a rickety park bench.

nearby monolithic coffins clutter views
in vertical shades of gray holding up sky.
one after another after another
none more special than the next nor the next-
not surprisingly i know this feeling.

passers-by trod within inches of my perch,
eyes fixed on destinations
with no inclination to dawdle.
why aren't they curious about this bench sitter
bundled, furiously scrawling in a tattered notebook?
don't they want to know the secret who? why? where-for-art-thou's
spewing forth from a stranger's quirky mind to pen, to paper?
for all they know i could be writing about them-
...about the fucker who left a box of half-eaten kfc on the bench...

not that it matters
but there are times, like now
i feel the need
to take a black marker and write "poet" on my forehead.
maybe then they'll acknowledge my presence.
then they'd know this isn't a grocery list i'm penning.
even though this latest write might as well be.

rip!
shred, shred the evidence of mediocrity,
'lest someone stumble across this crap
and actually read it some day.
better yet, toss bits high overhead
perhaps pigeons will find it suitable for nest lining.
alas, they can't be bothered either.
suddenly, in the middle of a crowded park
promising poet becomes confetti girl
and no-one notices...


© Copyright claimed 2007, Debra Marlar