Leaning on a Bench

The sunset reflects up
off the blowing curls
of a black mirror pond.

Ducks span the expanse;
waving trails, cutting crossways
like falling embers
of an amber colored firecracker.

After-supper sitters
in this park speaks softly
in French.
It is like music. Foreign
tongues to my ears,
’til the American
on her cell phone sits.
A valley girl, no less,
mars the effect.
I close my eyes to sigh
and look again.

The sunset reflects up
off the glistening grit
of greenish duck shit.

This is a night I won’t
forget not to remember.

written on 07/24/2013 by: Matt Kane