The Park Poem by Thomas Plotz

People come from extreme and extensive, extents
From all points
To walk on my grand paths

Some paths are paved
With concrete or asphalt
Most, with just the sand, itself,
Mixed with local silt,
Washed in from, river flooding

Why do they come, to walk here?

Aren’t there paths and roads
Just as fare, and grand
At the land
Where they live?

Instead, I get it,
Trampled upon, and abused
Not just normal wear

They cast out
Unwanted things
Now burdensome, to carry

Full diapers
Doggy bags, filled with the same, and
Other soiled garments

Still, worst of all, at least to me
Water bottles, and juice boxes,
Wrappers of this and that

If you brought it in, take it out
Makes me want to scream, and shout,
Please!
 
Then, cigarettes, some still
Burning, pitched down, to my floor, from passer’s by
Smoldering in wait…
Maybe hold the smoke, till you leave
It makes others choke, not just me

Sobering to think, the way people act
When they think no one’s looking
Except God, and I see all

Maybe I should charge to let you in, but
Then, the litter may be more
Upon my floor
Thinking now they could afford to
Pay someone to pick it up

Why do you walk here, if you
Disrespect my beauty and grandeur?

The Park – Why?

T. Plotz
The Park
NOV 23,2015