for Carlina Rivera
The city
is like
a mismanaged
notebook
found
on a bench
by a hope
ful man
who spun
a tale
for the city
that wanted
to change
but once
the notebook
was his
he began
tearing out &
selling
its pages.
One page
the park
we
love
sold to a
man
who insisted
he could
make
the park
a boat.
But where
will the trees
go we
cried and the
birds that
are living
in them. The
park sailed
away in that
man’s
dream. It’s
the corruption
of govern
ment. It was
my bench
it was
our page
this
is our
sunny
day.