Town Park

I don't think I've ever woken up one morning and written a poem. It's a long time since I've written any poetry, such as it is, really. Then I attended a conference and the next morning this was in my mind:

Town Park

A fence goes up around the town park.
The Bugle sounds a tone of reason: riff raff.
I tended to agree.
Here even the pitch harshness is contained with pretty terra-cotta
And ferals unsettling pristine mulch must be improved or removed.

Until my own encounter. Indirect at first.
A nice young man with wild hair projected images into the stifling windowlessness of the hotel ballroom.
What was outside, came beside and then inside.

Mr Mayor tear down that fence.

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