THE PUBLIC GARDENS


I sometimes think in archaic nuance
Phrases. Elizabethan dialogue
Addressing my imaginary friends
As Ladies and gentlemen. It depends
Of course, on the mood, the brood
I find myself in. Often, I am Hamlet
In soliloquy. Narrating my displeasure
Castigating my misfortune, bating
My interlocutors. Setting up a gambit
Coercing logic to fail, I measure
Each noun and participle and curtail
Emotive stresses. I encourage obsequious
Guesses. And forbid the Muse to dawdle
In short, I talk to myself. Perhaps,
My lips move. My eyelids lift
And pupils change direction. I may toddle
Or sit rigid as a stone. Yet, any connection
To this world, or one suspected or known
Is severed. And if I focus my attention
On that which is about me, I am jolted
To find, that I’m actually quite sane
Even ordinary. Plain on a Boston bench
Tossing nuts to the squirrels.