To Think

To think we share city sidewalk,

Sitting on rocks in Central Park,

Where children draw with colored chalk,

So excited to make their mark.

What better way to spend the day?

You came here fifty years ago,

On this lazy kind of Sunday,

Watching the people come and go,

A bag of chestnuts in your lap,

A notebook filled with poetry.

You asked where you could find a map.

The sense you had of being free,

Was stronger than the need to write,

The atmosphere inspired you,

And you could stay up late that night.

Now roller skates are breezing through,

Bicycle tires blur with speed,

And pigeons pecking near a bench,

Where tourists toss sunflower seed.

A little further down, the stench,

A homeless person clothed in rags,

Begging a dollar for some food,

A cart piled up with garbage bags.

He cried to show his gratitude,

When you put five into his hand.

And then we hear the tinkling,

Tin drums, of a marimba band,

Freeing our minds of everything.