The Poetry Club

The gate latch opens in they walk,

humans, trampling along every fork.

With cans or crisp rappers that fall,

others, with dogs or maybe a ball.

All to have fun, to let off steam, shriek!

or maybe it’s solitude, an peace they seek.

Whatever it is they all gather for.

They tend to make the place an eyesore.

But when the dusk comes the gate latch locks,

it’s time for the birds, the squirrels and fox.

The trees whistle and chat up the mice.

As the park returns to paradise.

By Janet Bosson