Poem: "The Foot Bridge"

Look at them crossing the foot bridge,
Dancing to the music in their skulls,
With the hawks cresting overhead,

And the clouds presenting, one after the other,
Like Constable at the zendo,
As the iguanas sun themselves poolside.

No one drew it up like that, no.
It's just the confluence of discrete motivations
And what Jung called synchronicity.

On the foot bridge everyone is in between. So,
No, ain't no revolution happenin' anytime soon;
Just the intermittent unspooling parade.

M. Bogen
March/June 2024