THE GREEN BENCH

The lake is swarming
fish bleeding their unconcious
train of no-thought-at all
off the water for a piece of bone
orange and glowing white and
fat and sliding thru the polluted mist
of green and on the shore on a bench
elder men and women check
their plastic bags looking of an
answer to their fading lives

what have we done wrong what have we done wrong?

a little joy here and there...

Then they get up and leave
and then a younger couple replaces them
and they watch the old couple
go away     slowly
and I know that they know
(I am watching the back of their necks
the places where their thoughts are born)
that there will be a time for them 
to sit on that green bench
one sunday evening
and that day they will have
to really think how to do it all 
over again  fix that clock
make it go backwards to that
night your lover penetrated you in full deep
promising you neverending

                                love.