Riverside Park, Early Morning

Early morning walking in the park,
a clearing sky after a night of rain,
that rain-on-asphalt smell, mist on the paths
diamonds sparkling in the scrubby grass.
I’m the only one about, lord
	of all I survey, 
	toureloo tourelay.
I fire up the perfect cigarette.

A bundle on a bench, an ancient woman
huddling under a wet clear plastic sheet
with all her things. She nods and mumbles something
I can not understand and Thank you darlin.’
Something something something thank you darlin’.
I face her with a complicated a smile
(hi and bye, I must be on my way,
	sympathy, 
	apology?
encouragement) a put-together smile,
like something you could make with Lego blocks,
and pass on by without a backward glance.

“Can I have a cigarette, thank you darlin’”
	is what she said.
	I hurry back.
I offer her a Marlboro and light it.

She closes her eyes and brings it into her
like a sigh of relief (as if a headache went,
or as if something fell but didn’t break,
as if a check arrived, as if a friend....)
and lets it go through pursed reluctant lips.
	Or as if nobody
	ever again
would wake her up and tell her to move on.

The sun is warming up, it looks as if
	it’s going be
	a beautiful day,
bright and full of goodness. Thank you darlin’.