Wednesday, November 28, 2007

At Parque Del Centenario

Birds flying, flocks, people feeding them.
They are a nuesence in a day long chase of mating season
buzzing by your head

there is a circle of six drummers
who have been banging mallets for as long as i have been here.

two women, sprawled in the grass, tanning in their bra and underwear

a man in cargo shorts, with a fanny pack, skate shoes
is laying mangled, face
down beside his toppled bike

the wind is rising, people are putting
their shirts on, moving from
the grass, walking, inhaling the benchings
surrounding a pond

for a second the drumming has
stopped. I can now hear the jazz
with a non-distinct origin
inflating the park birds
pulse of sirens
low end engine roar.

beside me there are a pile of bikes,
five people practicing
the coreography for a movie scene with martial arts.
it is smooth like a dance: one kicks high,
the other
ducks and slide-kicks low.
There are five people doing this,
a constant rotation with two groups of two.
They are side by side moving to their own music.
none of them are wearing shoes, the only girl
is in a tank-top.
She has frayed hemp bracelelts around her ankles.

a man with the materials for a business suit
is laying arms akimbo
mummified in the grass.
His jacked is neatly folded by his side.

a women has come and sat at my bench by my side.
She is very pregnant.
She is watching the edge of the pond.
After she has been there for long enough she rises and continues on.

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