Grayscale

If she is still there
smoking on the bench
like a movie star
when you are
on your way out
you will speak to her.

Reversing
all known laws
you will say something
miraculous, like
what kind of cigarettes
do you smoke or
isn’t this a crazy world
or my name is Rip
and I’m a freelance
demolition expert.

But the bench is
unoccupied.

You stand there
as if crowned.

Your plastic bags thrum
in the wind.

The things that move
move along.

John Hicks lives outside the city limits, where eagles dare.

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