A Midnight Stroll

 

A leaf catches in the gap

of small, spinning wheels,

slowing their inertial orbit  

around the shaded park.

A balloon, tied in a bow

around a sweaty handle,

scrapes the twilit sky.

Faint squalls float

through the autumn air,

while needy, unripe fingers

clench flowering stems like a life raft.

Their white petals, pure and unbroken,

tremble in the child’s iron grip.

I wonder—

Does he feel the icy breeze 

beneath his thick red coat

and tightly fastened brown scarf?

Does it raise goosebumps

on his smooth, freckled skin?

Are his fingers stiff with cold,

latched so tightly to those dying flowers?