Brookwrite

Central Park Five

Amid the dead of winter
I sit without a shiver
along the snow-cleared path
numb to December's wrath.
I wish I had a sled
not a dream that's dead instead
But I must say this day's nice
as I sit here warm as ice.

Central Park always thrives
even after snow arrives,
watching all these wives
watch their half-grown half-lived lives.
I wish for a friend or two
to throw a football to.
Without what little I am due
I sit warm as frozen dew.

For another so-called life
I wouldn't trade my strife,
I've needed every pain
to make every modest gain.
Most don't have it that rough
but I've lost time to that enough.
I know I'd have no other way
as I sit warm this frozen day.

Written in December, 2005, on that same park bench on the eastern side near 78th Street.