Blue Buggy
There is nothing quieter
than voices urban, reflecting,
echoing, shrill dead happy notes
beating against windows and walls
Small children in the park laughing
and you, sitting to draw and push
a blue buggy before the rain comes
Squeaking steel springs to soothe,
imagining a baby there,
Dreaming of rice pudding and clouds
Look now, how they move quickly away from school,
while the rain falls like frozen string
and only you know the reason why
you take this special opportunity to weep.
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