Walking In Western Springs. Poem by Michael Walker

When I used to live in the suburb
I would walk quickly around the lake
trying for twenty-five minutes flat,
seldom stopping to look at anything.
I usually walked counter-clockwise
the way I ran on athletics tracks
the way athletes run in races.

Today I am limping around the lake,
pausing to sit on welcoming benches
and watch the geese gliding on the water,
and hear their loud squawking,
their wide wings flapping on the water
when they take off on a pathetic flight.

I hear different languages spoken:
students talking Mandarin on the bridge,
men speaking Hindi on the bench.
I do not understand those languages.
Some older people are talking in Maori,
the country's second language
but I hardly understand that either.
I could walk on water here long ago
but not any more.


-7/8 February 2020.