In the long park divided by the Merrimack Canal
I sit on a bench watching high school students
dream of some perfect life ahead
and the water smoothing past without a sound
unaware of the turbine and the turbulence to come.

The pigeons seem predisposed not to matter
but there is one mangy seagull circling effortlessly
trying to entice me into some meaningful conversation.
I’ll have none of that.
A young lady in purple jeans and a black t-shirt cackles
as she passes by me with 11 of her closest friends.
She caws to the seagull and he flies away.

The dark water continues toward the Boott
the students toward the many treats downtown,
and my thoughts toward the conclusion
childhood is never really over.
The seagull ruffles back down from the heavens
and I laugh.

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