Tuckaseegee Park

I’ve never thought much about the thugs that smoked in the park on humid afternoons.

Handsome, troubled, faces gazed back at me,
Yet all I have ever seen is trouble
We have accommodated each other in private hells…
A place we’ve known too well and dwell
Afternoon after afternoon.

Somber faces lighting new port cigarettes
And speaking of nothing, interpreted as something…
Together joined in restless thrall
Hurt is all, disheartened, tears banned to fall
Exhaled and flown away ashes.

Strange and different faces with parallel tales
At picnic tables questioning the author.
With vile things we will erase the chapter
Capture dreams of happily ever after…
In cigarette butts and cheap beer.