Joggers traverse the perimeter.
At the center of the park is a playground.
There is one child in the playground.
He pops a head out from under a slide.
He pokes a stick in the sand.
One of the joggers has stopped near a trash barrel.
Several Coke cans and part of the meat of a fruit lay around the barrel.
She is breathing heavily. No, she is weeping.
The child studies something dark that he holds in his hands.
It begins to rain.
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shakemyheadhollow 
Highly evocative, excellent use of imagery. Mostly, leads the reader on his own journey through the many events that might be happening here.
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Thanks, Terence. I think you have your finger on my pulse!
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As soon as I saw the title, I had to read it, for obvious reasons. Where would I find Bartholomew Park? Or it is only accessible with your poetic license?
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Hey Bartholomew. It’s a long ago (in my mind) reference point in Austin. I assume the park is still there, but whether the landscape of my poem matches the physical landscape is anybody’s guess 🙂
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I lived in Austin for several years (North Cat Mountain) – never visited Bartholomew Park. It’s still there, just east of 35. There are two important directions in Austin: West of 35 and East of 35. 35 was built as a kind of Great Wall, and (unintentionally, but quite predictably) solidified the social separation between gotsomemoney and gotnomoney. Austin is very tolerant and welcoming to people of all races – if they have enough money to live West.
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Hey Terence. Been a while since I lived there. I suspect the “gotnomoney” side of 35 got bohemian and then gentrified over the past decade or so — at least down around 6th St — but maybe another Austinite can chime in.
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