Not Meant for a Creature of Flight - Dec 9 2023

 

Not Meant for a Creature of Flight

Dec 9 2023

Several rivers

wend through the city,

converging toward the lake

and their journey's end.

Some are still wild,

protected

by narrow strips of green

behind Potemkin trees.

Although the sounds of traffic you can't help but hear

make it hard to sustain

any illusion of wilderness.

Others are contained

between concrete walls

and chain link fences.

Or diverted underground,

where only a few old-timers

recall they ever were.

Deer

wander down these corridors,

sometimes stumbling out

into parks, backyards

and busy city streets.

Where, wild-eyed

they freeze, bolt, panic,

evading traffic

hooves clattering

desperate to cross.

Or, bewildered and lost

zigzag back and forth,

slipping and sliding

on the slick pavement

not meant for a creature of flight.

The other day, there was one in the parking lot

of the big-box store,

exhausted

confused

all by itself.

Some shoppers stopped,

feeling sorry, but helpless.

While others ignored it,

lugging bags and herding kids

fumbling for car doors.

I'm not sure

how it turned out for the deer.

But understand

how it feels to be alone

in an alien place

drawing stares.

Or at least imagining them

   —  as if you anyone really notices

or actually cares.

Because, after all, who isn't a solipsist

too busy with himself?

The shady green corridors

where we both feel at home.

Where, if you focus hard enough

you stop hearing the cars

sirens, horns.

Where the sound of rushing water

and wind in the trees

make it seem like you've escaped;

the illusion

that you're in a place

you're safe

and really belong.

Now here I am, reverting to form.

Have to admit, this more prose-like conversational style is more to my liking!

Literally. If you lost the line breaks and wrote this out as a paragraph, it would be grammatically correct prose.