Sitting on a bench
Along with some foreign spiders
I can’t even care about
I look towards Leonard’s
I wonder Len, will you come visit
These old quarters
and will you
do it while I’m here ?
I can wait at the park a little longer,
I don’t mind.
The sun is high, the air is fresh
I don’t care about the odd spider.
(here it comes, creeping towards me -
I’ve been to the old park house
And it’s spooky restrooms
They still smell like the winter of fourty-two
And look even older,
Only not as gracious.
Will you come ?
(Leonard, the spider,
We ought to name it someday)