Rose Trellis and Bums.

Rose Trellis and Bums


by james bezerra



I remember you,

sad yet hopeful

under that trellis of roses

in the park that summery day.

You comforted me

by letting me comfort you

and the bums like lizards in the sun,

listened in

on our private conversation.



And it makes me wonder how,

we ended up here –

or rather –

how I ended up where I am

and how you ended up wherever you are now.



I wouldn’t have believed it then

and still don’t believe it now,

though it is as real as concrete,

as real as cold,

as real as it can possibly be.

What would the bums think now?

 
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