Twist of Fate
I stepped into the emerald square,
Where manicured shadows groomed the air,
And pigeons in their tweed vests read
The news to pigeons yet unfed.
The weeping willows sobbed with grace,
Dabbing powder on the water’s face.
The clockwork ducks swam perfect lines,
Ignoring the economy’s declines.
A jogger floated by, quite neat,
With levitation on his feet,
Tethered to an iron smile,
Running simply for the style.
I sipped a latte, pure and white,
Bathed in artificial light,
Thinking, what a pristine view,
This world is manufactured for the few.
Then suddenly—
The bronze statue of a banker sneezed,
And all the foliage froze and seized.
The grass un-greened and turned to toast,
While a very bureaucratic ghost
Appeared to issue tickets for my sighs,
Charging me per cubic ounce of cries.
The sky unzipped a neon seam,
Spilling reality into a dream.
The ducks turned into paper clips,
And the joggers grew electric lips,
Reciting tax codes in the breeze,
While weeping willows chopped the trees.
Nature’s beauty—neatly tamed—
Was gone, and everything was blamed.
I tipped my cap to the absurd,
And swallowed a satirical word.
The air grew thick with copper gears,
As seconds dripped like heavy tears.
A grandfather clock began to swoon,
Slumping beneath a plastic moon.
It draped itself across a bench,
Oozing a sour, timeless stench.
The numbers slid right off its face,
Abandoning the human race.
The hands turned soft like liquid cheese,
And pooled around my shivering knees.
“You’re late!” the melted ticking cried,
Though hours had already died.
The corporate wind began to blow,
As numbers froze to slush and snow.
“Efficiency!” the puddle shrieked,
As all the park’s foundations leaked.
We stood inside a puddle of delayed success,
Where time was just a formal dress.
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