A possible tragedy, or unwanted present maybe, abandoned on the pavement this morning—I didn’t take a pic in case it really was a tragedy. Just imagine, brand new, bright red pushchair…
On the pavement before the park, an empty pushchair waits and metaphorically weeps. Almost new, with all its wheels, no broken axle, no torn hood, no unsightly stains, it stands, carelessly askew, gathering spots of sultry, desultory rain amid the debris of the weekend. I wonder as I look away, in sorrow at some imagined drama, is this a monument, Ozymandias in the sand, an abandoned castle of a couple’s dreams now dead, moved on, perhaps, with heavy hearts to build anew. Or did someone simply hate the colour red?
Gutters fill with loss,
pigeons peck the city’s crumbs,
rain spots, dust remains.