We take a walk
In the park
On a cloudy afternoon
Our heads throb
We are waiting for the cold
We walk in circles
Leave footprints
In the leaves
Below the clouds
The birds sing
Sharp as glass
They bear witness
To everything that happens
Here
Their song is rapid
And chill
Like the bullets
The boy uses
To shoot at the statue
His tiny pale finger
Wrapped around the trigger
It spoils the scene
But we understand
Why he shoots
Was the statue a bad man
She asks
I think so
Little Cricket
I reply
And she smiles
Then I am glad there
Will be holes in him
She reaches for my hand
And we head for home
Glad that the bullets
Missed us.
