Central Park

Swallowing trees.
I like you better now like this, barren and skeletal
and just as imposing.
Foreigners and locals sunbathing,
tourists and the homeless.
I wonder if they continue to seek shelter here,
even during the bitter winters,
coughing up blood as they scoop snow off the benches.
I’ve read of muggings and murders
taking place on the winding paths and
I am ashamed that people would taint your splendor.
I’m sorry.
Swinging and laughing, chasing and racing,
there are children everywhere,
nimbly avoiding cars and horses’ hooves.
Thankfully the sweet, sweet smell
of roasted nuts is masked by the scent
of trees, squirrels, and people.
It smells like earth.
I hope to return in ten years and discover
that your greatness has been preserved.