Five Statements of Being at a Local Park

I. Steam; boiling mist
spills over rusty, black bikes;
bushes, withered, dry.

II. Moving arms; palms wave;
red brick apartments surround;
twilight exercise.

III. Spaceship trains, guns raised,
children at the helm, silent,
winter on their face.

IV. Monkey temples rot,
thrashed by time’s terrible war,
while old men play chess.

V. Windows reflect sun,
burning my eyes, while winter
synchronizes me.